⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞˚୨୧⋆｡˚

First and Second Steps

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!reader (first-time parents!)

Summary: Deacon has missed a lot of important moments, but when you surprise him at work, he gets to watch his baby's first and second steps.

Warnings: FLUFF!!!!!!!!!! (I don't specify if it's a son or daughter, nor the age, so that's up for interpretation/preference!)

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (we don't get to see Deacon smiling enough, especially considering how pretty his smile is!!!)

“Deac?” you mumble groggily, reaching out across the bed. “David?”

“We’re right here,” Deacon answers from the rocking chair in the corner of your shared bedroom.

“We?” you ask, rubbing your eyes as you turn, following his voice.

Smiling as you see him holding your baby, you toss the covers aside. Deacon has your baby against his bare chest as he enjoys the quality time he can get. You walk to stand before him, sitting on the fluffy rug below the chair.

“I’ve missed so much,” Deacon says, rubbing his hand over your baby’s back.

“You’re an amazing father, David. From the pregnancy check-ups you made it to, being by my side when I went into labor, to right now, you’ve been here. We’re lucky to have you,” you tell him, laying a hand on his knee as you lean toward him. “Besides, not much has happened so far. Other than ‘dada’ being the first word.”

“Because I’m a great dada, right?” Deacon asks, winking at you before he looks down at the sleeping kid on his chest.

“You are,” you agree. “And the massive amount of overtime is ending soon, so when you get back to a regular schedule, you’ll be here for every dirty, smelly moment and the adorable ones in between.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, David Kay, and your baby.”

Deacon waits until you stand, letting you take the baby from his arms. While you feed, Deacon gets ready for work, hugging you both close before he leaves. You kiss his jaw, waiting for his promise to come home to you before you let him go, with another reminder that you love him.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ 

“Deacon,” Hicks calls as he enters the situation room. “Deacon… David!”

“Yeah? Sorry,” Deacon answers, looking up from his phone.

“What’s going on with you this week?”

“I just- I miss my kid and my wife.”

“I can understand that, but your baby’s not brand new. It usually sets in before this, those paternal instincts that make you want to stay close, be there for everything and protect them.”

“I missed so much of the pregnancy, and with this overtime and everything happening, I’ve barely been home since we got home from the hospital. It was a miracle that I managed to be there for the birth, but I’m missing first words and growing. Maybe it shouldn’t bother me…”

“Deacon, your family is your priority, so you decide what does and doesn’t, should and shouldn’t bother you. We’re getting these cases wrapped up, and the moment I can, I’m sending you home for a few days. Until then, just know that we’re here for you, all of you.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you. Uh, what’d you need?”

 “Oh, there’s someone here to see you. My office.”

Deacon nods, thanking Hicks again as he walks toward his office. He’s expecting a DA or captain, so when he opens the door and sees you smiling, he rushes to close the door and get closer.

“What are you doing here?” Deacon asks, hugging you tightly.

“We missed you,” you answer, sighing against him.

“Dada!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Deacon replies, turning.

You raise a hand to Deacon’s chest, holding him in place as you both watch with wide eyes. Watching your only (so far) child standing clumsily, you clutch Deacon’s hand as you witness the first step. With a giggle, your baby rushes toward Deacon, falling as he gets close. His superpower-like abilities and dad reflexes allow Deacon to catch his baby before he hits the floor, laughing before he cheers.

“You didn’t miss that,” you say, pressing a hand between Deacon’s shoulder blades. “Someone was excited to see Dada.”

“I’m excited too, baby! You did so well,” Deacon says, turning toward you.

Your smile grows when you see the pure joy on Deacon’s face. This moment makes up for so much of what has been missed, and Deacon’s excitement about being here for the first steps reminds you of why you love him and what makes him a good father.

“May I?” you ask, extending your arms.

“Mama.”

Walking a few steps away, you sit on the floor of Hicks’ office, setting your baby on the floor, hoping to see another race toward Deacon. Following your lead, Deacon kneels, watching happily.

“Maybe I’m more likable than I thought,” you whisper.

“I like you,” Deacon agrees. “A lot.”

Hicks knocks before he opens the door. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

“First steps,” Deacon answers happily. “Maybe second, too, if Mama stops hogging all of the attention.”

“Wow,” you respond, and Hicks advises, “Take it easy, Deacon.”

“Yeah, David. You don’t have to get jealous, there’s enough of me to go around,” you add.

Deacon doesn’t reply, his eyes widening as you slide back, giving room for second steps. After a few wobbly steps, Deacon pulls his giggling baby into his arms, cheering just as excitedly for the second walking trip. You stand, walking to Hicks’ side as Deacon falls into a happy conversation with a miniature version of himself.

“Thanks for letting me surprise him,” you say. “He’s been upset about missing so many firsts.”

“I understand. I wasn’t home for a lot of my kids’ firsts, and it can weigh on you. We’re dads, so not everyone expects us to want to be involved.”

“But you are good dads and good husbands, so you do.”

“Right, and Deacon’s the best of us.”

“I’d have to agree.”

Deacon says your name, drawing your attention to your kid standing before Deacon, holding one of Deacon’s hands out as he steps in place.

“Of all the things you could have given him, you gave him your energy,” you say sarcastically. “Thanks for that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m giving him some time off, so they can wear each other out,” Hicks tells you kindly.

“Hug?” Deacon asks, raising his other arm.

“Hug!”

“Got Deac’s touchy tendencies, too, huh?” Hicks murmurs.

“Oh, yeah,” you agree. “You can’t imagine what it’s like for me. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Hicks smiles before turning away to answer his phone. You stand beside Deacon, smiling down at him as he relishes in a hug.

“Good news, Deac, 20-David just got released from standby. If you want to take the rest of the day,” Hicks begins.

“I do. Thanks, Hicks, see you later,” Deacon answers quickly, standing as he speaks.

With his arm around you and your baby held against his side, Deacon leads you to the locker room, gathering his things quickly before leaving S.W.A.T. HQ to spend as much time with you and his baby as possible.

“Congratulations,” you say, smiling as you kiss Deacon.

“For what?” he asks, looping his arms around your waist.

“Having a great kid and being here for the important stuff.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more. And, really, you should be congratulating me for my excellent timing on deciding to surprise you today.”

Deacon chuckles, pulling you into another kiss, leaving a trail of kisses up your cheek before he replies, “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re going to get touchy, aren’t you?” you mumble against his neck as you return his hug.

“Oh, we both are. We have a lot to celebrate.”

Once in a Lifetime

The Rookie x SWAT documentary-style (reader insert) crossover

Summary: Mid-Wilshire opens a case that requires seven police departments, numerous SWAT teams, and an unusual witness. As the public watches a documentary all about the case and the people involved, they see more than crime.

Warnings: narration is in italics, injuries and blood, character death, discussion of child abuse, depiction of cults/brainwashing, fake tweets, I probably went overboard, fluff and comfort at the end I promise

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: This idea struck me last night and I had to do something with it. I hope someone enjoys it, but I'm never using a tweet generator again because it took an embarrassing amount of time.🤍

What if a once-in-a-lifetime moment depended on a single decision, rather than a plethora of them?

“I didn’t call the police because it’s none of my business. I’ve seen how she treats her kids, why would I interject my family into that when I don’t have to?”

What if the one moment that could change everything was slipping away before you arrived?

“I’ve got a pulse! As soon as we’re code 4, I need an R/A standing by!”

What if the world stopped for your once in a lifetime?

“The 405 has been shut down between Signal Hill and Alameda Street. This sudden, unexplained closure, in conjunction with the heavy law enforcement presence throughout Los Angeles, has citizens alert and concerned.”

What if the only person who can save you is the result of dozens of perfectly aligned once-in-a-lifetime moments?

“7-Lincoln-100, I’ve located another-“

This is Once in a Lifetime.

Sergeant Tim Bradford, Officers Chen, Nolan, Juarez, and Smitty enter different areas of the Mid-Wilshire police station. Detective Lopez and her husband, attorney Wesley Evers, take a seat in their home, while Detective Nyla Harper and Sergeant Wade Grey sit at their respective desks. Each officer has been interviewed for a documentary before, but the mood is distinctly somber as compared to the other episodes.

“Hi, I’m Alex, host of ‘It’s All Bloody (and) True,’” the man behind the camera introduces. “Today’s episode is about the case involving eight different police departments, four specialized units, a major highway closure, and - correct me if I’m wrong - a series of once-in-a-lifetime decisions and opportunities that seem mathematically impossible.”

“Mathematically impossible?” Wesley repeats. “Try completely impossible. On paper, there is no way this case should have lined up the way it did.”

“Not to say it was easy,” Angela adds. “I’ve been on the job for a long time, and this was unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“As the veteran officer on this case,” Wade continues from his office, “I agree with Detective Lopez. Everything g about this was unprecedented.”

“I’d like to start with day one of the investigation,” Alex requests. “Take us through the first moment, the call, and how this came into your station and became your duty.”

Lucy answers, “911 dispatchers received a call from a distressed man claiming that his neighbor had gone missing.”

“A call that raised concern for more reasons than his distress, correct?”

“Yes,” Sergeant Bradford says. “The caller mentioned the name of his neighbor’s employer.”

ACTUAL TRANSCRIPT OF 911 CALL: CALLER She- she went to work like she always does, but this was days ago. It would’ve been… Monday, no Tuesday because my wife was making donuts for her board meeting. Eileen called her in at some crazy time. DISPATCH You said Eileen? Is that your neighbor’s boss? CALLER Yes, yes. Eileen Indigo, I believe. She’s made her do crazy things before, but she needs the job, you know? I’m just really scared because she’s never done anything like this before and Eileen has some serious issues. DISPATCH Officers have been alerted and will be performing a welfare check, sir.

“You responded to the welfare check?” Alex inquires.

“We did,” John Nolan replies. “There was no answer at the door, so we surveyed what we could see and there was no sign of anyone inside, of forced entry, or any foul play.”

“Without that, there’s no probable cause for us to enter,” his rookie, Celina, adds. “Although there was a feeling of urgency surrounding her residence.”

“Is that- is that something you look for as police?”

“Of course not,” Tim snaps. “But we’re human, we have emotions. We notice things about how people and places feel.”

“Unfortunately, Officer Juarez’s empathy and intuition wasn’t enough for us to move forward,” Lucy continues. “And without any sign that something nefarious had happened, all we could do was post a missing person’s report.”

“But the case stood out?” Alex guesses.

“Right,” Tim agrees. “Because of Eileen Indigo.”

PREVIOUS INTERVIEW FOOTAGE: “Ms. Indigo,” Detective Harper greets. “We have a few questions about your relationship with Devon Taylor.” “There isn’t one,” the young woman replies, picking at her shirt rather than looking at the cop across from her. “He left six months ago. During our kids’ birthday party, can you believe that?” “Ma’am, we located Mr. Taylor. He’s deceased, and his body was dumped in a viaduct.” The woman sits back in the chair, straightens her shirt, and asks, “Did he have cash on him? I gave him $50 for a new flat iron before he ran out.”

“So, why did the mention of her name spark interest?" Alex asks. "Taylor’s case had been closed, his best friend - who turns out to be Ms. Indigo’s, uh…”

“Sidepiece?” Angela suggests.

“Mister?” Wesley adds. “There’s not a direct mirror of ‘mistress,’ is there?”

“Yeah, the friend got jealous that Indigo hadn't left her husband and offed him. What made us remember Indigo was the complete lack of care,” Grey explains.

“That and the concerns about her treatment of their children,” Nyla comments.

“Surely if she was mistreating her children, it would have been uncovered during the duration of your investigation?” Alex hypothesizes.

“Not our investigation.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“Right, there were eight police stations involved in this case,” Alex remembers.

“There are only 21 stations in Los Angeles, for reference,” Wesley says. “Seven of the stations working this case were in LA. So, one-third of the officers were directly tied to this case in some capacity.”

“And the introduction of Eileen Indigo introduced this collaboration?”

“Not exactly,” Tim begins. “When we began looking into Indigo, it was only in regards to how she was treating our missing person. And, as we began looking into that, we discovered past complaints and CPS reports of her children being mistreated.”

“And?”

“CPS found nothing,” Nolan replies.

“Their investigations - plural - all determined that the children were in good health, being cared for, and not in any immediate danger,” Celina states.

“So, you went back to square one,” Alex says, flipping a page of his notes.

“Not at all,” Wade interrupts. “We were still trying to piece together the caller’s claim that Indigo mistreated her kids and her employees when we received a call from another station.”

“And he dropped a bombshell,” Nyla deadpans.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“Would you mind introducing yourself?” Alex asks.

“Sure. I’m Commander Robert Hicks, LAPD SWAT,” the man seated in a different station greets.

“Upon learning that Mid-Wilshire was looking into Eileen Indigo, you called their watch commander. Why?”

“After the initial report of child abuse, my 20-David SWAT team was dispatched to Indigo’s residence. Responding officers reported that she had barricaded herself and her children inside. My people got there, got in, and found that Indigo and her children were asleep, completely safe and unharmed.”

“And that didn’t bring more questions?”

“Of course it did,” Hicks argues. “There’s just procedure to follow, and even though my team wanted to get to the bottom of what happened and find out more about Indigo, we can’t just dive into people’s background because we feel like it.”

“When you called Grey, were you planning to offer your team to be on standby?”

“No, and I didn’t right away.”

“When was it decided that SWAT would be beneficial to working the case?”

“After the next call,” overlapping voices reply.

BODY CAM FOOTAGE - Roll Call Room: “This is Sergeant Harrelson, Sergeant Kay, Officer Luca, Officer Tan, and Officer Street,” Wade introduces. “They will be on standby during the visit to Ms. Indigo’s home. If a warrant is issued, they will serve it.” “We have experience with Indigo and have been on the home before, so we’re happy to offer any assistance we can,” Harrelson adds. “What if she lets us search the house and we don’t find anything?” Officer Juarez asks. “It’s a missing persons’ report, there’s not much we can do,” Nolan answers. “One thing at a time,” Wade reminds them.

“Not only did you secure a warrant because of a subsequent complaint, but you felt it necessary to bring in five additional departments from different stations,” Alex muses. “What did you find that led you to take such extreme measures?”

“Let’s just say, I drew up the affidavit, and while you’re only required to provide the judge with probable cause to believe evidence is present in the location being searched, my document was nearly 50 pages in length,” Wesley shares.

“And the judge only read the first page,” Angela adds.

Nyla then says, “The judge signed not only the warrant for her office but gave us a warrant for every piece of real estate she had under her name. We found five additional residences and several acres of land outside of Palm Springs.”

“Making Palm Springs PD the third station to join what was turning into a hunt for the missing woman,” Lucy connects. “It was also at this point that Sergeant Grey knew we needed to serve all six warrants simultaneously, so we needed more hands.”

“In addition to recruiting Metro, patrol, and SWAT officers from our sister stations,” Wade adds, “we also put out a nationwide BOLO. It was Thursday afternoon at this point, so we were two days past when the 911 caller had last seen his neighbor alive.”

“With a plan to raid Indigo’s office and homes at the same time, you went out in teams,” Alex says. “But most people who’ve had A&E any time after 2004 know that the first 48 hours of missing persons investigations are vital, and after that, the chances of finding them alive go down.”

The camera shows Nyla, usually the effortlessly funny detective, sigh deeply before she says, “That’s what made the next part so hard.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

Alex finds a paper with names on it, then says, “This is the team that raided Eileen Indigo’s office in California Heights. Going around the table quickly, we have Commander Bob Hicks, 20-David SWAT members Sergeants Harrelson and Kay, Officers Luca, Tan, and Street, as well as Detective Harper, and Officer Chen. Additionally, Metro Sergeant Tim Bradford.”

“And I was the one who chose to close the 405,” Wade offers.

“As someone who worked for LBPD, I continue to support that decision,” Street says. “The office building - which was a converted house - backed up to Orange Avenue, which crosses the 405 and has its own on-ramp. Had she been able to get on there and disappear into car-pocalypse, we’d be telling a different story right now.”

“That was surprisingly logical,” Harrelson - who invited everyone to call him Hondo before the cameras started rolling - muses.

“So, the 405 is closed for a good reason, but why leave the public hanging?” Alex wonders.

“To protect ourselves and others,” Lucy says. “If she knew we were coming, who’s to know what she might have done.”

“She would’ve run,” Tim adds from his commander’s office. “Or, worse, she would have harmed the people close to her to throw us off her scent.”

“You said ‘the people closest to her.’ Raiding Indigo’s office made this case about more than a missing woman,” Alex editorializes.

BODY CAM FOOTAGE - Eileen Indigo's Office Building: “LAPD,” Hondo calls quietly as a woman sitting at the front desk raises her hands in shock. “Get down on the ground. How many people are inside?” “Just Ms. Indigo, her assistants, and the trigon team,” she whispers.

PREVIOUS 911 CALL: CALLER I don’t know what exactly she’s doing! Her children are outside in the cold reciting something about tricycles, maybe? She has a paper in her hand and when they say the wrong word, she threatens them! DISPATCH Officers and EMS are en route.

“Tell me more about Trigon,” Alex requests.

“I wish we could,” Angela replies.

“Indigo’s trigon team continues to be a mystery,” Wesley explains further. “There’s real estate holdings with each team member listed as a beneficiary, they’ve got a joint bank account, but we can’t find any real evidence of them actually doing anything together.”

“As far as we could tell,” Tim begins, looking away from the camera quickly, “the so-called trigon team was some sort of attempt at starting a cult. The uh, ‘members’ were evaluated by a psychiatrist, who believed there had been a degree of brainwashing involved.”

“When we connected the 911 call about her – how do I put this? – initiation of her children, we knew there was more to Indigo’s business than we anticipated,” Lucy says. “But, at the moment during the raid, we were in no way interested in getting these answers, just finding the missing woman and getting cuffs on Eileen.”

“Without an arrest warrant,” Wade reminds Alex and his viewers. “We had to find probable cause to legally arrest her, and though the judge understood our evidentiary concerns and issued the search warrants, he didn’t have enough to give us an arrest warrant.”

“So, you went in looking for something you could arrest her for?” Alex asks, suddenly sounding accusatory.

“No,” Tim snaps. “We went in looking for a missing person because there was more than enough evidence that Indigo had engaged in threats of violence in and out of the workplace.”

“But isn’t workplace mistreatment a civil matter?”

“Most cases are,” Wesley agrees. “But when it grows more severe; when threats progress to actual physical assault, it becomes a criminal offense under California law.”

“There was no evidence of that included in the affidavit.”

“That’s because Palm Springs PD hadn’t found her trophies,” Nyla responds.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

BODY CAM FOOTAGE – Eileen Indigo’s Palm Springs Property: “Clear!” an officer calls. “We’re code 4.” “I got something!” another voice alerts. A sergeant passes through the barricade and kneels by the recently disturbed dirt. A large metal box protrudes from the shallow hole, and he radios for a forensics team. When they arrive, the box is photographed before it is removed and opened. Inside, there are dozens of disturbing photographs (which have been blurred for viewers of the documentary). “Get Sergeant Grey on the phone!” someone yells.

“When I received the call, the teams serving warrants on her LA properties had already left the station,” Wade explains. “I alerted the senior officer at each location and allowed them to distribute that knowledge as they saw fit.”

“It ended up being completely irrelevant,” Sergeant ‘Deacon’ Kay interjects. “When we reached the conference room of Indigo’s office, we had enough to arrest her.”

“The trigon team was…” Angela pauses, attempting to find the right word.

“Cataloging,” Nyla finishes for her. “They were sorting new, additional pictures that put Indigo not only at several crime scenes but explained how she had evaded CPS and past officer visits in the past.”

“She was mistreating her children?” Alex translates.

“Not physically,” Celina answers.

“Though there were early signs of that progression during the children’s examinations,” Nolan adds. “No, she preferred psychologically abusing her children. Brainwashing, manipulation, a sick sort of training, whatever you want to call it, she forced it upon her children.”

“And her employees, as it proved with the trigon team.”

“So, you find the trigon team, arrest them with relative ease, and then what happens?” Alex asks.

“It sounded like the world was ending,” Lucy answers.

BODY CAM FOOTAGE – Eileen Indigo’s Office Building: “Street, Bradford,” Hondo calls, “with me.” Street and Tim fall into line behind Hondo and continue moving through the narrow hallway. As they pass Indigo’s open door and empty office, a sudden, deafening noise fills their ears and the microphones on their body cameras. Every officer ducks forward instinctually and attempts to drown out the noise. “It’s coming from the garage!” Tim yells. “7-Adam-19, we need backup in the kitchen! Taking fire!” Lucy radios. “Go!” Street tells Hondo, “We’ll handle the garage.” Hondo nods and moves through the noisy house to assist the officers being fired at. “Eyes on Indigo!” Nyla alerts. “Moving from the kitchen toward the master bedroom!” Tim taps Street’s shoulder before they enter the garage. As the door opens, the noise grows louder. “What the-“ Street mumbles. “Go!” Tim yells. “Shut it off!” Street nods, then pulls the strap on his gun across his chest. With his hands free, he grabs the jackhammer being held upright by 5-gallon buckets filled with sand and water. As he tries to find the right button to turn it off, Tim circles the car slowly before he drops to his knees and slides his head and shoulders beneath it. “Eileen Indigo is in custody,” Nyla radios after the jackhammer silences. “Back bedroom is barricaded,” Luca adds. “Hold for entry.” “Bradford, what are you doing?” Street inquires. Tim pushes himself out, and Street immediately sees the blood – your blood - coating his hands. Tim says, “I found her,” then returns to his original position beneath the car. “Officers taking fire!” Tan alerts. “Deac!” Street calls into his radio. “We need a medic.” “We need a little more than a medic!” Tim barks. “Where are you?” Deacon asks, raising his voice over the commotion in the house. “Garage,” Street answers. “I can’t get over there, Street. I’m on the 3-side and there’s a firefight between us,” Deacon replies. “Victim has been located,” Tim radios, shockingly calm for someone with blood up his forearms. “We need an R/A. I’ve got a pulse, but not for long.” “Can we move her?” Street asks, moving to his knees to look under the car. “She’s not responsive,” Tim replies. “It’s not smart, but we’re running out of options.” “It’s probably a stupid idea,” Street decides. Tim turns his head, keeping his hands against your sides. “What’s a stupid idea?” “This car probably runs, has a big trunk… We need to get her help, right?” Tim hesitates, then says, “Get in the car.” “What part of move her did you not hear?” “We can’t move her much, she’ll bleed out. Pull the car forward.” “Hondo, we need someone blocking the garage, we're moving the vic,” Street radios as he climbs into the car. “It’s a button-start, if the key isn’t close enough, we can’t start it.” “Street, try!” Tim yells as gunfire grows louder.

“You find Eileen Indigo, take her into custody, and find the missing woman,” Alex reiterates. “And decide to drive over her, knowing she was injured. That seems like an absolute last resort.”

“Considering we were in a gunfight with Eileen’s version of private security and an ambulance can’t come in until we’re completely clear, we needed a last resort,” Nyla snaps. “It’s not something we’d do every day, but it was what we needed in this instance. It was try to get her in the car and out of the house, or risk letting the woman bleed out.”

The shot changes to Tim Bradford, who looks at a piece of paper lying in his lap but doesn’t speak.

“Sergeant Bradford?” Alex says softly.

“Yeah,” he replies, shaking his head as he looks up. He flips the paper, briefly showing the camera that it’s an image of you – smiling, happy, and alive. “While Officer Street started the car, I kept pressure on the victim’s wounds and ensured neither of us was in the way of the tires.”

“Officer Street’s recollection suggests you covered the victim’s body with your own. Is that what made this case emotional?”

“Amongst other things.”

BODY CAM FOOTAGE – Eileen Indigo’s Office Garage: “Okay, let’s do this,” Street says, rounding the SUV as the trunk opens. Tim shifts, moving to your left side as his hands press against your side, just below your ribs. “The kids,” you mumble. “We’ve got them,” Tim assures you. “Do you know where you are?” You open your eyes and meet Tim’s gaze, murmur, “Thank you,” and lose consciousness. “She’s fading, we have to go now,” Tim states. “Tell me what to do, Sergeant,” Street requests. Tim looks around and gestures to a stack of beach towels with his chin. “Put those in the trunk, then come put pressure here.” Street does as Tim instructed and holds your side as Tim lifts you in a bridal carry. You groan, and Tim is glad to hear you reacting but terrified by how much blood you’re losing and your lack of consciousness. “Drive,” Tim demands as he climbs into the trunk with you. “26-David and Sergeant Bradford, transporting victim in suspect’s Chevrolet Tahoe, partial plate Foxtrot-9-3-4,” Street alerts dispatch. The hospital becomes visible just as Wade radios, “We’re 10-4 all around, code 4. Indigo and the shooters are in custody.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“With the teamwork of seven stations, nearly 200 officers, and a 60-hour-long hunt, the missing woman was located,” Alex narrates. “And is transported to the hospital.”

“Less than an hour later, we received a call that she died on the operating table,” Nyla says. “There really wasn’t anything we could do at that point, just hope that the evidence would talk, and Eileen’s reformed followers and children could testify.”

“You found the victim. How did that news affect you?” Alex asks Street and Bradford, now separated from the other officers.

“What kind of question is that?” Street asks. “Regardless of who found her, the news of her death was still devastating.”

“Calls like that are always hard,” Tim answers flatly. “But we didn’t have a ton of time to dwell on it before Officer Thorsen found something else.”

ACTUAL RADIO COMMUNICATION: “7-Lincoln-100,” Aaron Thorsen radios. “I’ve located another employee of Eileen Indigo’s. Albert Camden, in custody for 211 with a water gun.” “Yeah, Albert Camden was still relatively sane,” Wade deadpans. “He gave us everything we needed to prosecute Eileen to the full extent of the law.” “Why turn on his employer so easily?” Alex inquires. “She threatened to kill his family if he didn’t rob the corner store where he was arrested,” Angela answers. “After he learned she was in custody, he gave us detailed accounts of his time with Indigo and why he didn’t quit.” “And it was during this time that the final 911 call came in,” Alex says.

ACTUAL TRANSCRIPT OF 911 CALL: DISPATCH 911, what’s the location of your emergency? CALLER I need to speak to Bradford. DISPATCH I’m sorry? CALLER He’s a cop, and I have information for him about Eileen Indigo, but I don’t know which station he works at.

Tim looks up from the camera and the corners of his lips quirk up.

“Welcome,” Alex greets, shaking hands with someone behind the camera. “Thanks for coming to tell your side.”

Tim shifts his seat to the right and invites the 911 caller to sit beside him.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“Mind introducing yourself?” Alex asks.

You send him a small smile and shift in your seat before offering your name. “I worked for Eileen Indigo for about 6 weeks before she decided she wanted me to be a 24-hour employee.”

“Meaning?”

“She invited me to stay in the office 24/7 and do essentially anything she asked me. I very briefly considered it, only to ensure her children were safe, but ultimately turned it down. It was at that time she abducted me.”

“Why did you decide to fake your death?”

“I didn’t,” you reply with a smile. “Sergeant Kay did, and after the role he played in saving my life, with Officer Street and Sergeant Bradford, I wasn’t going to argue.”

“So,” Alex begins with Deacon and Street, “Why?”

“We learned that the father of her children wasn’t out of the picture, not like we thought,” Street answers.

“Mr. Devon Taylor was not murdered,” Deacon adds. “He met with detectives at the Mid-Wilshire station and worked with them to try to recover his children from their birth mother.”

“Taylor had an associate who was planning to take over Indigo’s business and real estate endeavors,” Nyla explains.

“I figured if her enterprise was directly connected to a murder, he’d hesitate,” Deacon continues.

“And he did,” Alex replies. “Just long enough to be caught using Indigo’s bank account. So, he was taken into custody, yet your people were not alerted to the actual survival of the victim.”

“Right,” Tim answers through a clenched jaw. “A minor oversight.”

“One of the doctors caught it and allowed me to call Sergeant Bradford,” you say. “I had to thank him for saving me, but he did hang up on me.”

Lucy laughs, leaning forward, before she exclaims, “His face! He hung up and immediately drove to the hospital with his lights and sirens on.”

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS DURING LIVE BROADCAST:

“After a series of no less than a dozen once-in-a-lifetime opportunities aligning perfectly, Eileen Indigo was arrested and is going to trial in the coming weeks,” Alex concludes. “Anything that stands out to you as the case comes to a close?”

Each officer offers a lesson or two that can be learned from their time working the case, except for Tim, Deacon, and you. During Alex’s ending narration, a cameraman steps around a corner and zooms in on you. Viewers watch in delight as you smile with Tim and Deacon. When your hand rises to Tim’s arm after Deacon excuses himself, people begin to wonder if Tim got more than a good arrest.

SOCIAL MEDIA POSTS AFTER LIVE BROADCAST: (featuring your response to the massive amount of feedback)

Lucy Chen - 2 new messages

It’s not just us, everyone can see the chemistry🤭 Have fun on your date!!

He might not say it, but you’re Tim’s once-in-a-lifetime. Thanks for being there for him.

Defend Myself

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (hockey fan & self-defence teacher)

Summary: During a hockey game, you get into a fight with the drunk man sitting beside you. When Tim Bradford arrives to break up the fight, he decides he'd like to see you again.

Warnings: fight between r and drunk man, unwelcome comments and grabbing (nothing overtly sexual or descriptive), fluff at the end, Tim and Aaron are sarcastic

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: Why I go back and forth between American and British spellings is a mystery.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Alright, ladies,” you call to the self-defence class you’re teaching. “What’s the goal here?”

“Defend ourselves and protect our minds,” they reply.

“Right. Because learning how to fight and keeping yourself physically safe isn’t all that matters. Focusing on what can go wrong in life isn’t any fun, so while we work on self-defence, use it as anger management. Have fun with this!”

Your last class on Friday afternoons is one of your favorites. The women are always excited to learn, they listen well and use good form. Most importantly, they really understand your goal in teaching them. In addition to how great the group before you is, you also get to look forward to hockey after they leave. Whether it’s a game or just to watch practice, you find yourself at the rink most Fridays, and as many other chances as you can get. Hockey and self-defence are two of your favorite things, so afternoons like this are borderline magical.

“Uppercut,” you signal.

As you demonstrate the proper way to move into an uppercut after the warmup, you watch the class.

“Can I ask a question?” a woman in the back row asks between moves.

“Of course,” you reply with a smile.

“Have you ever had to use these moves in real life? Like, to defend yourself?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But that’s why we learn it, right? If we know how we don’t have to live in fear about the when.”

“Which is why we chose the bear,” another girl murmurs.

“Can’t always choose. Preparation is key, and knowing how to react is the most important thing you can learn as a woman.”

“Fighting can be boring though,” someone groans.

“Clearly, you’ve never been to a hockey game. Let’s focus, ladies. Take a breather before we move into strength drills.”

You grab your water bottle from the floor and survey your classroom. Hockey fights are certainly more entertaining than fighting to defend yourself, but you enjoy both.

Los Angeles isn’t necessarily known for its hockey scene, but the arena is packed tonight. Your season pass with the seat on the ice is getting plenty of use this year, and as you sit back to watch warmups, you can’t help the smile that grows on your face.

As the crowd grows and the first period gets nearer, two men take the seats to your right. You nod politely when they greet you, but quickly return your attention to the players preparing to skate out. While the announcer introduces the teams and prepares the fans for a good game, you glance toward the men beside you. The one closest to you seems to already be buzzed, and the oversized cup of beer between his legs doesn’t instill confidence in you. Hopefully, he’ll stay quiet, you think. Cheering for your team is one thing but you know too well how quickly a drunk hockey fan can ruin a night. Anyone who’s been to a hockey game can probably imagine your concern.

You try to ignore him as he gets more talkative, but in the middle of the first period, he drains the remainder of his beer and turns toward you.

“Pretty little thing like you prob’y has some questions,” he says. “I can explain it t’ya.”

“I’m good,” you answer firmly.

“If t’changes,” he slurs as he turns away.

It won’t.

The bell rings and the teams leave the ice as the crowd rises in mass. You stay seated comfortably in your seat as your drunk neighbor leaves with his friend. Since you told him you didn’t need his help, he’s left you alone. As long as that continues, you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the game, and maybe witness a hat trick from your favourite player.

“Here,” your neighbor says as he returns. “Looked thirsty.”

He shoves a cup of soda toward you, and you push it back. “I don’t want that.”

“Just try’na be nice!”

As he falls back into his seat, you lean toward the side to get some room. His arm moves to the armrest between you as he reaches his fingers toward your leg.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him as you knock his hand back into his lap.

“Jus’ a pretty lil’ thing,” he murmurs as he leans over the armrest.

“Sir, get him under control,” you say to his friend.

“He’s not my problem,” the other man answers.

“Stop.”

He rolls his eyes as if you’re overreacting and sits back in his seat. Your fists are clenched tightly as you watch him move away from you, and you’re mad that he’s causing you to miss so much of the game and keeping you from enjoying it.

“Los Angeles, make some noise for the third period!” the announcer yells. “We’ve got a tight game and tighter teams. Make it a night to remember, LA.”

“Night to r’mem’ba sounds pre’y good.”

You take a deep breath before you raise your eyes. Somehow, your neighbor got more drunk in the short break between the second and third periods than the rest of the game combined. He reaches toward your arm, and when you pull away, he frowns and steps to stand over you where you sit.

“Leave me alone,” you demand as you stand.

After you put a bit of space between you, you notice that the people sitting behind you are watching you. You don’t care, however, as he throws an empty cup toward you. You move out of the way, and it isn’t until he lunges toward you that you truly react. Your fist makes impact with his jaw before he finishes stepping forward.

“Fight!” someone yells behind you.

You plan to do just that. If he can’t understand no or stop, maybe he’ll understand some of your favourite self-defence moves.

“Reports of assault at Honda Center: fight in progress. Attendees have made numerous reports of disturbance,” dispatch alerts.

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Code 3.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be fights at hockey games?” Aaron asks. “That’s, like, half of the draw.”

“On the ice. Fights off the ice are a regular occurrence,” Tim answers. “Usually drunk rival teams.”

“Easy to break up?”

“Sure. If you think pulling a guy who can’t feel anything off of another guy who doesn’t even remember why he’s trying to kill someone else easy, absolutely.”

“Could’ve just said no,” Aaron mumbles as Tim turns.

“Man, back up!” a security guard demands.

He grabs your attacker’s shoulder and tries to pull him backward, but it doesn’t work. As you prepare to throw another punch, you see that the drunk guy’s eye is black and swelling, his lip is busted, his nose is bleeding, yet he still isn’t quitting.

“Jus’ stop playin’!” the man demands as he grabs for your waist.

You push his wrists away and shove him against the glass dividing you from the ice. He elbows backward, but you block it with your forearm as he yells at you.

“The police are on the way!” someone yells from higher in the seats.

“Get off me!” the man roars as he pushes himself backward.

You manage to catch yourself before he shoves you against the seats. When he raises his hands toward your chest, you raise your right leg into a front kick and momentarily stun him into remaining still.

“Kick his butt, lady!” a man cheers.

“LAPD,” Tim announces as he and Aaron enter the arena. “Where’s the fight?”

“Follow me,” the guard replies.

He leads them into the section where the crowd has gathered to watch the fight. The moment Tim sees the number of people invested in the fight and the suspended timer above the rink, he expects the worst.

“Call for backup, Bradford?” Aaron asks.

“Not yet. Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Tim answers.

“I doubt the guy can go for much longer anyway,” the guard adds. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to ask what that means before he reaches the center of the crowd. He watches you elbow the man under his chin. As Aaron takes a step toward you, Tim extends his arm to stop him. You’re clearly winning, but the guy is too drunk to realize that he can’t keep going. He’ll realize just how badly he lost once the alcohol wears off. A night in lockup would do that nicely, Tim thinks.

The man steps back and prepares to jump at you, but Tim grabs his shoulder from behind and throws him against the glass before he shoves the man to the floor. With his knee pressed into the man’s kidney, Tim secures the handcuffs on his wrists.

“Take him,” Tim tells Aaron.

Aaron nods and yells for the crowd to clear a path. He follows a small group of security guards as he walks back to the shop.

The crowd around you begins to spread out the moment your attacker is ripped away from you. You take a deep breath and nod at the officer who helped you.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile. “Little tired. Thanks for the assist, Officer Bradford.”

Tim watches your eyes rise back to his face after reading his name tag. He smiles at you just before the buzzer over your head rings as the game resumes.

“You wanna stay?” he asks over the sound of skates and cheers.

You shake your head and follow him to the staircase. Once you’re in the main area of Honda Center and the noise of the game is muffled, Tim turns toward you.

“That was impressive,” he applauds. “I’ve been called to more fights than I can count. Never seen one under control like you had it. You, uh, you clearly won.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to commend me for getting into a fight, officer,” you tease.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asks.

“I teach a self-defence class for women,” you explain. “Been fighting for a while but honed my skills for safety more than entertainment.”

“Then they were wrong.” At your confused look, Tim clarifies, “911 dispatcher said there was a fight. You were just defending yourself.”

“He was drunk and didn’t understand when I told him to stop.”

“Which I am allowed to commend you for.”

You smile at Tim again, and he decides that he needs to see you again. More than being impressed by the thorough beating you delivered to the man who was harassing you and trying to touch you, Tim finds you incredibly beautiful, and he knows you’re talented and care about others. He doesn’t want this to be a one-time encounter.

“Have you ever considered hosting a class for the police department?” he asks, looking for a way to ensure he can talk to you again soon. “We bring in instructors from the city occasionally to host free classes. You’d receive compensation, of course.”

“I haven’t, but it does sound nice. If more women knew how to defend themselves, it might make your job easier.”

Tim agrees as he hands you his card. “Call the station in the morning and we can work something out. If you need a teacher’s assistant or anything, I’d be happy to help, too.”

You tap his card against your thigh as you say, “I’d like that.”

“Bradford!” his partner, Thorsen – you feel like you should recognize the name but don’t – calls. “We got another call.”

“Sorry,” Tim tells you. “Hopefully I’ll see you at the station soon.”

“I think you will.” When you smile at him this time, Tim feels like you punched him, too.

literally JUST read your i bet on losing dogs fic and i was wondering if roy ever brings up the fact that black!batsis paid for his rehab? like is he upset with her or just wants answers as to why? i can imagine it leaves him conflicted for a bit…

@flyestvenustrap I finally got to it! part two of this

Roy was having trouble sleeping. Who knows how many hours had passed since he and Y/N laid down to sleep but he just couldn't fall asleep. His mind was only focused on what Oliver said during dinner. Part of him wanted to just dismiss it but the other part wanted to know if it was true. He felt Y/N stir next to him. Her eyes squinted at him as she realized that he was still awake.

"I don't want to fight," He said as he adjusted her slipping bonnet.

"So we won't," She said snuggling closer into his arms. Roy rubbed her baby bump before sighing.

"Oliver said something the other night, and I need you to be honest with me," Roy knew he wanted to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was to get Y/N worked up, and pregnancy anger was no joke.

"Okay," She said, sitting up in the bed.

"Did you pay for my rehab all those times?" He spoke while still lying down. His hands were rested behind his head.

"Oliver paid the first time. He treated like some miracle program, but let's be honest, we both know it's more difficult than that. Every time after that, I paid." She admitted quietly. The only other person who knew she had paid for his rehab was Bruce, or at least that's what she thought.

"But you were what? Nineteen?" The small age gap between them lingered in his mind at times. He had so much baggage that he often wondered why she chose him to be with.

"Yeah," She spoke shyly.

"Why? We weren't even dating back then," He looked at her, realizing what their relationship was like.

"I didn't wanna give up on you." Y/N wouldn't say she loved him back then, but she cared for him as more than a friend. He was there for her when her brothers couldn't be, and she knew that he was a good person. That was enough for her.

"Don't cry, baby. I'm not upset, I promise. How come you never told me?" He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled before continuing.

"I was so happy when you came back and you had Lian. You had to adjust to being sober and being a father. I didn't want you to think you owed me anything. Whether it be a relationship or money," She admitted. She kept her distance for a year until Roy found her after he came back from where he disappeared to.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," He spoke, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you too," She leaned on him and kissed his stubbly cheek.

Roy was having trouble sleeping. Who knows how many hours had passed since he and Y/N laid down to sleep but he just couldn't fall asleep. His mind was only focused on what Oliver said during dinner. Part of him wanted to just dismiss it but the other part wanted to know if it was true. He felt Y/N stir next to him. Her eyes squinted at him as she realized that he was still awake.

"I don't want to fight," He said as he adjusted her slipping bonnet.

"So we won't," She said snuggling closer into his arms. Roy rubbed her baby bump before sighing.

"Oliver said something the other night, and I need you to be honest with me," Roy knew he wanted to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was to get Y/N worked up, and pregnancy anger was no joke.

"Okay," She said, sitting up in the bed.

"Did you pay for my rehab all those times?" He spoke while still lying down. His hands were rested behind his head.

"Oliver paid the first time. He treated like some miracle program, but let's be honest, we both know it's more difficult than that. Every time after that, I paid." She admitted quietly. The only other person who knew she had paid for his rehab was Bruce, or at least that's what she thought.

"But you were what? Nineteen?" The small age gap between them lingered in his mind at times. He had so much baggage that he often wondered why she chose him to be with.

"Yeah," She spoke shyly.

"Why? We weren't even dating back then," He looked at her, realizing what their relationship was like.

"I didn't wanna give up on you." Y/N wouldn't say she loved him back then, but she cared for him as more than a friend. He was there for her when her brothers couldn't be, and she knew that he was a good person. That was enough for her.

"Don't cry, baby. I'm not upset, I promise. How come you never told me?" He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled before continuing.

"I was so happy when you came back and you had Lian. You had to adjust to being sober and being a father. I didn't want you to think you owed me anything. Whether it be a relationship or money," She admitted. She kept her distance for a year until Roy found her after he came back from where he disappeared to.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," He spoke, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you too," She leaned on him and kissed his stubbly cheek.

taglist: t: @flyestvenustrap @megamindsecretlair @blxckdesire @animegirlfromvietnam  @nupppuff  @prettyvintageafternoon   @lilbanas @certifiedloverwoman @melissa-ashe @hoyoooo

Should I Stay or Should I Go? (Part Three)

Part One // Part two // Part Four

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader

Part three of four 💖

Warning: reader drinks/smokes, difficult relationship with Giles and not friends with Buffy.

He had been searching for you when you hadn’t returned, his face steeped in worry as he stormed through the night to find you. Maybe you had got lost or eaten in that annoying human way. He cared for you deeply. He couldn’t help it and as he walked through Sunnydale until the light started to singe his body, he knew that he couldn’t fight his feelings anymore.

It had been five days. He had caught your scent around the UC Sunnydale campus but he kept losing it in certain places. He needed to see you, needed to make sure that you were okay.

He had been sleeping in your bed clinging to your clothes, bathing in your scent. Wishing he could have you back by his side again, where he was more sure each day that you truly belonged. He wished to have you pressed against him again, cradle you in his arms, grip your body in his bed.

He had found you five days later by chance, stalking into the Bronze looking for something to pass the time. His mind on you but he had little hope that you would appear before him. He was even beginning to worry he had dreamt you up.

Until, well, there you were. Stood at the side of the Bronze looking miserable as you swirled your drink around. You were talking to a redhead who looked a little exhausted by your company.

He stepped back, watching you intently as if you were a mirage. He wanted to reach out and touch you so badly but he was afraid you may be a cruel illusion. He had looked for you for days, he had worried sick about you.

From the dark he overheard your conversation, you had left because of the kiss. It had overwhelmed you as much as you had wanted to stay in the moment forever.

“I just don’t know… should I go? Should I stay?” You asked, not for the first time since you had started talking to her.

“I, uh, I’m still not sure Spike is exactly boyfriend material”

“I’m not trying to make a blanket out of him, Will” You said smiling softly at the idea of Spike wrapping his arms around you.

Your indecision was bugging even yourself as you spoke about it for the millionth time. Willow was at a loss as to what to say other than that Spike was very dangerous and ultimately evil. You were already way past that and had seen the good in him as well as the bad. You liked both but you knew that this would sever any chance at reconciling with your Dad.

“Embarrassed, is that it?” Spike asked, his eyes not meeting yours as he stepped from the shadows. His eyes were haunted by a situation much like this, some decades earlier. He felt it, the rejection, the pain. It was so acute and written on his face so clearly that you could almost feel it yourself.

“Spike, it’s not like that, I-”

“You used me for a cheap thrill and then went toddling back to your boring little life livin’ under Daddy’s thumb”

He stormed out, lighting up a cigarette as he walked, his duster whipping around him as he walked into the street. You ran after him, ignoring his muttering about not even getting to the thrilling part.

You grabbed his shoulder and he let you turn him to face you. He was agonisingly close, you even found his frown cute. His anger desirable. You wanted to kiss his pain away, remove the furrow from his brow. Offer up any thrill that he could possibly want.

“If you don’t want me then bloody well let me free” He moved as if to push past you but you took his hand. With your touch he softened, even slightly.

“I was scared, Spike”

“Now you find the time to bloody fear me”

“It’s just, I was trained from a child to be a Watcher and as much as I never cared for it, things like that are kinda difficult to unlearn. Suddenly I was ten years old again being screamed at by some stuffy Watchers when I started to empathise with one of the vampires in our case studies.”

You had been wrestling with your own morality. It was a battle you could never win when kissing Spike felt so right but everything you had been taught until now had told you it was so wrong.

He nodded, understanding that where you come from can impact your life, and even your un-life. He was still reeling from the rejection, it had hurt in a way that he hadn’t felt since he was human. He offered you a smoke, you took it, leaning into him as he flicked his lighter on for you. Your eyes met, deepening your gaze as you inhaled the thick smoke.

Nothing was said in this time, though it lasted for an age, something unspoken was communicated. Shared.

He lowered himself, his duster sliding from his shoulder slightly as he knelt on the floor his cigarette bobbing from his lips as he spoke, “I’m on my knees here, pet, I can’t lose you. Love like this comes once an eternity.”

“Love?”

You reached for him, lowering yourself to kneel with him, your hands clasping his after flicking your cigarette away. You couldn’t help the way your doubts creeped into your head, how your upbringing made you question every move that you made in terms of good and evil.

“Where do we go from here?”

“Come home?”

You had barely nodded before he slammed his lips against yours, your knees resting uncomfortably on the tarmac, but all you could think about was the way he felt against you. The urgency in which he kissed, the way he cradled your face in his hands, caressed your skin. He felt divine beneath your hands, his lips felt heavenly on yours.

How could anything about this be wrong?

You leaned against him, your forehead pressed against his as you panted trying to regain your composure. You stayed like that for a while in the dark alley before you took his hand again and walked towards your shared crypt.

From there, you took things slow. Much slower than either of you would like. You often fell asleep against him in the evenings and shared such deep confessions. Of your pasts, of your feelings for the other.

After a week of settling back into your home, you had an unwelcome houseguest. And she didn’t even bring a home-warming gift.

Buffy slammed the door to your crypt so hard that it almost came clean off its hinges. She came to tell you that your father had been turned into some demon by Ethan Rayne and she wanted to make sure that you knew that he was okay. That he was shaken but unharmed and would perhaps appreciate a visit from his family.

You mumbled something about going to visit sometime but realised this was the wrong decision. Buffy saw this as an opportunity to give you some (again, unwelcome) advice.

“Look, y/n, as a friend-”

“We were never really friends, Buffy”

The young girl looked surprisingly hurt, perhaps she had truly seen you as a friend and you had misjudged her. She had, of course, never been anything other than pleasant to you. You had just allowed your jealousies to fester beyond control. Plus she was self-righteous in a kind of annoying way.

“Well, friend or not I care about you because I care about Giles. Grow up, y/n, the rebel act was kinda last season. He misses you”

“He made it very clear that I’m not welcome, why would him letting Ethan make him all Fyarl-y make a difference?”

“You can’t be happy here, with him” she visibly shuddered as he walked up to join you from the lower level of the crypt. You appreciated that you got a glimpse of his athletic torso beneath his unbuttoned red shirt.

He slung an arm around you, squeezing your shoulder and whispering in your ear. You were too comfortable together and Buffy looked as if it made her physically sick. She threatened Spike vaguely, gave you another warning and then with a hair flip she stormed back out of the crypt and slammed the door shut behind her.

The thing that irritated you the most was that she genuinely thought she was ‘saving you from yourself’. That you had taken the wrong path. That the love, this amazing and beautiful feeling that you had never quite felt anything like before, was somehow wrong. Or gross. Or evil.

Which had fed into your thoughts the first time you had been close to Spike. You wouldn’t let it happen again. You hated the distance. The way his absence had physically pained you.

Spike guided you back down to the his bedroom, pressing soft kisses against your jaw, nipping at your neck and caressing his lips down your chest. He wanted you all to himself, he wouldn’t let you go again. Not now he knew how good life could be with you in it. By his side, in his bed.

By late afternoon you were lying on your side in his bed, watching him writing in a notebook. Papers littered the floor of the crypt. He hadn’t had such inspiration since he was human. You had brought him back to life. Revived him.

“Did you mean it, when you said you loved me?” You asked softly, your fingers trailing softly against his muscled arm.

“Never meant anything more,”

He had, of course, noted that you hadn’t said it to him. It stung a little but he would rather have you by his side even if you didn’t love him than not at all. He knew you cared for him, of course. Knew that you felt safe with him. Knew that he would kill any man, demon or slayer that came anywhere near you.

He put his writing down, shifting himself and burying his face into the crook of your neck. He would give anything to hear you say it.

“Say you’re mine, love, and I’ll be here until the end of time,” He pleaded between landing slow kisses against your exposed skin.

“I love you, Spike, I think… I think I’ve always been yours,” You whispered as if you were afraid he might overhear.

He smirked darkly, his fangs bared and his face morphed from beyond your line of vision. Your eyes were closed, enjoying his touch. He suddenly wrenched your head to the side, exposing your neck further.  

He could feel your pulse thrumming faster now.

He swallowed thickly,  before propelling himself towards your neck, ignoring the firing from his chip as he held you in place…

The Better, Hidden Half

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here >

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (takes place in The Rookie 1x20-2x1)

Summary: Tim doesn't tell just anyone that he's married. When he's quarantined and his life is threatened by a fatal virus, he asks Lucy to call you, and ends up showing everyone what you mean to him.

Warnings: angst, fluffy comfort at the end, spoilers for episodes 1x20 and 2x1 (this is basically a rewrite, but still includes a brief reference to the suicide line from Tim). reader stress cleans?

A/N: The anxiety/stress cleaning bit is completely self-indulgent; sorry. I tried to manipulate Tim's conversations with Lucy to make them sound more platonic (I don't know if it worked though). I absolutely love this idea and had a ton of fun writing it!🤍

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

Tim Bradford is a man of few words, and he keeps his life separated into two distinct areas: work life and personal life. He tried to bring the two together once, but hated the constant worry that someone from his work life would threaten to hurt people in his personal life or worse, act on their threats. For that reason, for his family’s safety, Tim keeps his life separated, and only a choice few have been chosen to be trusted with a glimpse of both sides of Tim. Angela, Wade, and on occasion, Bishop, see a side of Tim that doesn't exist when he's at work.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How is she?” Angela asks, sitting beside Tim for roll call.

Tim rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “I trained her, I’m sure she did fine. Better than your golden boy boot, anyway.”

Angela smiles and leans in to whisper, “Didn’t mean Chen.” She turns her attention to Jackson, calling, “80 might be the passing grade, boot, but if you don’t get at least a 90, you should turn in your badge on general principle.”

Tim leans forward to add, “Officer Chen, I will take it as a personal insult if you get anything less than a 93.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy answers. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do with all your new free time? Might I suggest a book club?”

Angela elbows Tim under the table, and he glances at her quickly, giving her a displeased stare which only makes her work harder to hide her smile.

“What are you talking about?” Tim asks.

“You know, after I pass, there won’t be any more daily evaluations to write.”

“Whether I evaluate you daily or weekly, I will continue to judge you every minute. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As Grey enters, Lucy turns to Nolan, who whispers, “I can’t believe he’s single.”

“Tell me about it,” Lucy replies, rolling her eyes. “Evaluating a wife daily would cut into his ‘man of honor’ time.”

They silence as Wade directs the TOs to only take easy calls while the rookies finish their last shift before their exams. When Tim assures that he follows direct orders, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, knowing that Angela and Bishop are ready to tease him the moment he looks in their direction.

✯✯✯✯✯

7-Adam-19, silent hold-up alarm activated at Madame Megan’s psychic shop. 2417 Vine. Code 3.

Tim and Lucy enter the back room, taking control of the situation quickly, and he dials in once again to being a cop. Not a family man or anything of the sort. Just a police officer.

As Lucy walks out, and the (fake) psychic hits on Tim, he can only think of one thing. Excusing himself from the room, with a lack of grace that is unlike him, Tim lets his mind wander for just a moment. He thinks of a promise he made, a vow he took, and then his focus is back on his new case, a missing person discovered by a phony Hollywood psychic.

✯✯✯✯✯

Miles away, you are trying to focus on work, though you find it much harder than Tim to simply push your family and your personal life from your mind at a moment’s notice. Fiddling with your necklace, you refrain from grabbing your phone, wanting to text the only person on your mind. Oblivious to the dangers Tim is learning about from the CDC and Homeland Security, you sigh and clench your hands into fists before attempting to focus again.

Before you make any progress on starting the project awaiting your attention, your phone rings. Tim’s name appears on your screen, and you rush to answer, dread filling you. He never calls while he’s working, and you immediately expect the worst. Surely if it were something terrible, Angela or Wade would call you. If Tim is calling, that means he is okay, he is alive.

“Hello?” you ask, releasing a sigh when Tim says your name.

“Are you alone?” he adds, his voice strained.

“Yes. What’s going on?”

“I need you to stay where you are or go straight home. There’s a terror cell with a biological weapon; we’re doing everything we can to find them, but I need to know you’re safe.”

“Tim- yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I- I really can’t say anything else. Not about what we’re doing. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

“I will. Be careful, Tim. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Your phone beeps as the call ends, and your hand finds your necklace again, one finger slipping into Tim’s wedding ring. He leaves it with you each morning, taking it back with gentle touches and loving kisses when he returns each night. Today, all you can do is trust that he is good at his job and that he will protect you and the rest of LA, and then come back to you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim and Lucy approach one of the possible address in the search for newly discovered members of the terror cell.

“Man. And here I thought that test was gonna be the hardest part of my day,” Lucy muses.

“Best case scenario, it’s tomorrow’s problem,” Tim points out. His thoughts, however, are stuck on you, especially when Lucy asks what the worst case is.

“Took you long enough,” the man, Peter Langston, says as he opens the door. “Bag’s in here.”

“Sir, we’re here about the bus you took from Phoenix,” Tim explains.

“No kidding. I called you about the bag.”

“And what bag is that?”

“I thought it was mine on the bus. I picked it up by accident.” Tim follows Langston into a bedroom as he continues, “Noticed as soon as I got home. Called right away. Still took you guys like six hours to get here.”

“Uh, sir, we’re not here about a bag.”

“So, you don’t have mine? My computer’s in there… I went through this one for an address, and all I found was some weird science equipment.”

Tim glances back at Lucy, who calls for the task force at the mention of ‘weird science equipment.’

“Sir, did you touch anything in there?” Tim asks, pulling gloves on.

“Yeah, I cut my finger going through it looking for an address. Some kind of broken vial.”

Tim’s eyes widen and his breath catches as the man raises his bloodied finger, adding that it hasn’t stopped bleeding since it was cut. Hemorrhaging, Tim knows.

“Everything okay in there?” Lucy calls.

“Yeah. Just stay out there,” Tim demands.

The man coughs, and Tim flinches as blood lands on his neck and up onto his jaw. Looking down at the blood on the man’s shirt, Tim’s mind forgets the divide between work and personal life. He takes the initiative to lock Lucy out, slamming the door on her to keep her safe, but his true concern is you. If something happens to him, who will look out for you? Who will be your shoulder to cry on? In a moment, as the reality of the situation dawns on him, Tim thinks like a husband, and he begins to regret keeping you, his wife, hidden for so long.

“Tim, no!” Lucy yells, but she steps forward too late.

Tim is on the other side of the door, a new division created as others are dissolved.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim finds baby wipes on a nearby changing table, wiping the blood from his skin as he lies to Langston, telling him it will be okay and distracting him with meaningless treatments to combat the “bad case of the flu the police were warned about this morning at roll call.”

Langston disappears into the bathroom in search of cold medicine, and Tim walks to the door to ask Lucy, “Everything all right out there, Chen?”

“Uh, yeah. The CDC’s on their way,” she responds. “Hey, you need to come out of there.”

“That’s not gonna happen. Got to keep this contained.”

“Tim-“

“It’s gonna be alright, boot.”

Tim knows that Lucy is concerned about him, and he is similarly concerned for her. He feels responsible for her safety as his rookie, but his thoughts toward her are completely and totally different from his fears concerning you, driven by love rather than mutual respect and duty.

“You keep your head in the game, okay?” Tim encourages Lucy. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

As Tim looks at the blood-covered wipe in his hand, he thinks of you, and how you’ll respond to the potential notification that he didn’t make it, taken from you by the very thing he tried to protect you from. He turns his attention back to the sick man feet away from him before his thoughts spiral. Tim needs you, so he needs to focus and survive.

✯✯✯✯✯

While the CDC is arriving at the house and quarantining Tim and the infected man, you are pacing in your shared bedroom. Memories of you and Tim exist in every inch of this house, and every moment that goes by without an update increases your worry. Walking into the closet, you find one of Tim’s recently worn shirts, changing into it before picking up the remote to distract yourself. With Tim’s pillow clutched to your chest, you try to laugh at the ridiculous sitcom on the screen, but it doesn’t work as well as you hoped.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Chen, you want to tell me what happened?” Dr. Morgan asks, dressed in full hazmat gear as she enters.

“Yeah, uh, the bus passenger mistakenly grabbed the wrong bag, and the virus must have been in it because he coughed up blood on Tim,” Lucy explains.

“Did you get any blood on you?”

“Uh, no. I was out here. Tim immediately closed the door.”

“Smart man.”

Tim hears Dr. Morgan’s comment and clenches his jaw, knowing you would disagree entirely. At least in this case.

“Hey, doc,” Tim greets, standing against the door.

“How you doing?” Dr. Morgan inquires.

“Fine. But Mr. Langston’s struggling a little.”

“Can you describe his condition?”

“Yeah. He, uh, started coughing blood about 20 minutes ago. Now he’s got a pretty wicked nosebleed.”

“Why aren’t they coming in? Where’s my ambulance?” Langston asks.

“It’ll be here any minute. Just… stay put. Save your energy.”

Lucy interrupts to ask, “Where’s the vaccine?”

“Still in the air,” Dr. Morgan says. “Should land in the next hour or so.”

Scoffing, Lucy argues, “You can’t make Tim wait in there. He might not be infected.”

“Sorry. Quarantine rules exist for a reason.” Dr. Morgan turns to the door and asks Tim, “Officer Bradford, do you mind if I put you to work while you wait?”

“You want to know what’s in the bag?” Tim knows digging through the contents is dangerous, but waiting without doing anything won’t increase his chances of getting home to you.

“Yes, I do.”

“Copy that. Chen, I’m gonna turn on my body cam. You can monitor it from out there.”

“Okay. Please be careful,” she responds.

Tim hears your voice in his mind, telling him the same thing. He trusts himself to listen to you more than his rookie.

“All right. Here we go,” Tim says, using his baton to open the bag.

“Wait. Wait. What is that bottle?” Dr. Morgan wonders.

“Looks like the delivery device,” Tim guesses, raising it carefully from the bag. “It’s a misting fan.”

Dr. Morgan calls Homeland Security with the new information on how the terrorists are planning to spread the virus. As Tim continues searching the bag, failing to find identification or target information, Lucy sees Langston raising a chair in the mirror and yells for Tim just before he is knocked unconscious.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your house is as clean as it has ever been. Using your nervous energy and anxiety-fueled need to move, you clean each room in an attempt to keep your mind from worrying about Tim. You could call someone and ask for an update, but they probably can’t tell you anything. The only comfort you have is knowing that Angela and Wade would call you if you needed to know something. The silence is deafening, but it’s also a good sign.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim? Tim!” Lucy continues, growing concerned at the lack of reply.

Tim opens his eyes, moving backward quickly when he sees a puddle of blood running toward his face. He sees Langston standing across the room, mumbling about needing to get out as he tries to break the window. Tim tases him as he stands, and Lucy’s concerned yells continue. Covering his face with his shirt, Tim handcuffs Langston to the bed, shuffling backward as Lucy demands his answer.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” he replies, breathing heavily. “Well, that was fun.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim chuckles. “Kind of depends on your definition of the word.”

While Lucy tells Dr. Morgan to get the vaccine, and the LAPD sends patrol units out to find the other terrorist, Tim keeps his eyes on Langston, but his mind is on you. He should ask someone to tell you and find a way to let you know what is going on, but part of him knows that you are separate from this for a reason. You’re likely worried enough without knowing that Tim’s chance of being infected rises with each moment.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim watches Langston die, unable to do anything as he begs for help and convulses. Imagining himself in Langston’s place, Tim decides that he has to do something. He can’t go out like that, he won’t, but more importantly, he can’t leave you wondering. If Tim dies today, he is not dying without talking to you one last time, showing everyone around him that you are the best part of him.

He leans against the door in silence until Lucy says, “Hey, I, uh- I just checked with Dr. Morgan. The vaccine’s minutes away.”

“You know, you’re good at a lot of things – lying isn’t one of them,” Tim replies.

“You think I’m good at things? Can I get that in writing? … How are you doing? Are there any symptoms yet?"

"I’m sweating like a pig. But it’s probably because it’s 100 degrees in this room.”

Tim sighs just before Lucy assures, “It’s gonna be okay. I really believe that.”

“I’m sure you do. But if it isn’t-“

“Don’t think like that. It’s-“

“If it isn’t,” Tim repeats. “I’m not going out the way my man Pete here just did.”

“What are you saying?”

Tim sighs again, realizing what he said. He would never leave you like that; he’s a fighter. “I need you to do something for me, Chen.”

“Anything.”

“My- my wife is probably worrying herself sick right now. If this doesn’t end like you think it will, can you tell her that I fought to get home to her? Just- just keep an eye on her if anything happens. Wade and Angela, too.”

“Wife?” Lucy asks softly.

Tim smiles, glad to talk about something other than himself or the virus released in the room with him.

“Yeah. We eloped a while back; Grey, Lopez, and Bishop were there.”

“You’ve never mentioned her.”

“I keep her separated. She - everything in my personal life – would be at risk if there wasn’t a divide there.”

“I get that. What’s she like?”

Tim says your name, closing his eyes and picturing you as he tells Lucy how beautiful, kind, and loving you are. “She’s my better half. I don’t- can’t imagine not going home to her.”

“I promise, Tim. I’m confident you will go home to her, but… I promise.”

“Thank you,” Tim says quietly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Please tell me that’s the vaccine,” Lucy says when Dr. Morgan returns.

“It is,” she answers quickly, walking toward the door quarantining Tim. “Stand back, Officer Chen. You’re not wearing protective gear.”

“Yeah.” Lucy steps back, hoping Tim is okay, and that he gets to go home to you.

“Officer Bradford, it’s time to let me in,” Dr. Morgan calls.

Tim opens the door, greeting Dr. Morgan before answering that he’s not feeling too bad. She tells him that she’s going to administer the vaccine. “It’s experimental, right?” Tim asks.

“That’s correct. So, we’re just going to have to wait and see what happens. Maybe nothing. Maybe you grow horns. But for now, I’d say you might’ve dodged a bullet.”

Tim looks at Lucy to ask, “Can you get Lopez? Ask her to call for me?”

Lucy nods, pulling her radio out to contact Angela. She knows that Tim will need you, no matter how the vaccine works… or doesn’t.

“Lopez,” she says, sighing before saying, “Tim wants to know if you can call his wife.”

“Of course,” Angela answers. “She’ll be at his side, even if I have to go get her in the shop.”

Lucy smiles at Tim, and he sighs as Dr. Morgan administers the vaccine. There’s more hope surrounding Tim now, but the fight may not be over yet.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you see Angela’s name on your phone, you consider not answering. Biting your bottom lip to hold your tears in, you answer.

“He’s okay,” Angela begins.

You sigh in relief, a few tears breaking free anyway. “Thank you, Angela.”

“The vaccine is experimental, so they’re taking him to the CDC for observation; you can visit with the proper protective gear. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“See you in a few. And, just so you know, he didn’t call me.”

“Who did?”

“His rookie.”

Angela reminds you that she’s happy to pick you up if you want before ending the call. Tim mentioned me, you think. Then you wonder whether or not that’s a good thing.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, I heard you guys saved the day,” Lucy says, exiting Langston’s house to meet Nolan, Jackson, Lopez, and Bishop.

“It was a group effort,” Jackson corrects.

“Glad you’re okay,” Nolan expresses.

“Me too,” Lucy sighs. “I- I mean that you’re okay, too.”

“How’s Tim?” Angela asks.

“I think he’s gonna be all right. Now, 24-hour observation at the CDC.”

“I’ll bet my pension he just told doctors Tim Bradford does not ride in a wheelchair,” Angela jokes as Tim walks out.

“Only way I’m leavin’ out of here is on my own two feet,” Bishop imitates.

“Don’t you guys have paperwork to finish?” Tim retorts.

Tim looks at Lucy, nodding his thanks before continuing to walk toward the car waiting to transport him to the CDC. He stops suddenly in the yard, growing dizzy before he falls backward onto the grass.

“Officer Bradford!” Dr. Morgan yells.

Lucy, Angela, Bishop, and Jackson run toward him before the CDC holds them back. Someone calls for an ambulance, and Angela backs away to make a call.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What happened?” you ask, answering Angela’s second call.

“Meet us at Shaw instead of the CDC,” she says.

You can hear yelling in the background, and repeat, “What happened?”

Angela says your name, unyielding as she says, “Shaw. I’ll meet you there.”

You inhale deeply, turning toward Shaw. Knowing that you have no chance of beating an ambulance escorted by police cars, you grip the steering wheel, hoping that Los Angeles traffic has grace on you, and you make it to Tim’s side quickly.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim better make it,” Jackson says.

“He will.” Angela knows that he’s a fighter, but she also knows that losing him will destroy you. He has to make it for himself, for the police department, and most importantly, for you.

In the ambulance ahead, Tim goes into anaphylactic shock. Lucy helps the paramedics and glances at Tim’s left hand. The line where his wedding ring sits is barely visible, but she whispers for him to keep his promise, to keep fighting.

Once the ambulance and the police cars enter into the hospital parking lot, Nolan notices a woman with a gun, alerting the officers surrounding the ambulance before the firefight starts.

Lucy covers Tim in the ambulance as the paramedics assist him as well as the injured medics. Nolan shoots the woman in the shoulder, but his gun jams as he moves closer to her.

Tim opens the ambulance door, downing the armed woman on a surge of adrenaline. Stepping onto the ambulance driveway, he asks Nolan if he’s okay.

“I should have reloaded on the move,” Nolan mutters. “You?”

“I should’ve taken yesterday off,” Tim answers.

“Alright, Officer Bradford, let’s go,” a nurse says, pushing a wheelchair to his side.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Angela!” you call, jogging to her side.

“Don’t freak out,” she begins, but your eyes widen when you see the bullet holes covering, well, everything.

“Where is he?”

She nods, leading you around her shop. Tim is standing beside Nolan, arguing with a nurse.

“I can walk. Clearly, I’m fine,” Tim argues.

You don’t think about how many people are watching as you walk to Tim’s side. He turns toward you, his eyes softening when he sees you.

“Get in the wheelchair,” you demand.

Tim sighs but does as you say. Nolan and Jackson look at each other in shock, and Lucy smiles as she says, “His wife.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into Tim’s hospital room, he looks like he’s been waiting for you.

“I’m sorry,” he begins.

“For what? Not listening to the nurse?”

Tim chuckles as he raises his left hand, pulling you to his side. “No. I’m sorry for not showing you off more, for never telling people about us. I worried you; I know I did, and you don’t deserve any of it.”

You lean forward, running your fingers across Tim’s jawline as you smile. “You don’t have to show me off. I know why you do it, Tim. Being a secret, being separated and safe, I get it. What I don’t like is not knowing if you’re okay.”

“I don’t want the separation anymore. You are my entire life, and- I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I’m not risking this again. The idea of not making it home, leaving you alone, with no one knowing you or how much you mean to me… that was terrible, and I’m sorry.”

Pursing your lips, you lean toward Tim and look into his eyes before scanning your eyes over his face.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Trying to figure out where the Tim I know went.”

Tim smiles, moving over in the bed and tugging you against his side. He taps your necklace before raising your hair away from your neck. You unclasp your necklace, sliding Tim’s wedding ring off the chain. Tim lays his left hand in your lap, and you put his ring on slowly before kissing his hand.

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you. And I accept your apology, even though I didn’t need it.”

“Ready to meet the rest of my-“

“Friends?” you fill in, smiling.

“Colleagues,” Tim finishes, shaking his head as his arm tightens around your waist.

“Thank you for making sure Angela called me.”

“How clean is the house?”

You laugh, pressing your face against Tim’s shoulder. He knows you well, and though you didn't know what was truly at stake over the last few hours, you did miss him.

“Hey, Mrs. Bradford,” Wade greets, smiling as he leads a small crowd of officers into the room. “I have some rookies here who don’t believe someone would marry Tim.”

“I changed my mind,” Tim replies. “Get out.”

You elbow him gently, smiling as you stand. “It's much easier when he doesn’t tell people. No association to him.”

Tim laughs behind you, and after shaking hands and introducing yourself, you return to Tim’s side: where nothing can hurt you, everything is safe, and you’re the most important thing in the world.

Meet My Family

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!baker!reader

Summary: Street is ready to introduce you to his family. You become fast friends with his SWAT team, but meeting his mother is a difficult challenge. After she tries to scare you away from Street, he faces a tough decision about who he considers family.

Warnings: Karen is Karen, Jim Street is a flirt™️, brief angst, fluff, not proofread

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Hey, handsome,” you greet before kissing Jim’s cheek.

“Hi,” he responds slowly, his eyes narrowed as he watches you. “What’d you do?”

“Why do you think I did something?” you ask, blinking innocently.

“Because you met me at the door with a kiss and it smells like cookies in here.”

“I am a baker.”

“And I’m a cop. I can read you, babe.”

“Babe?” you repeat with a smile. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Not until you tell me what you want,” Street stipulates, failing to hide his smile.

“You said you were ready to introduce me to your team. And I accidentally tripled a few trial recipes, so I have a ton of cookies right now.”

“You want to bribe them,” he concludes, nodding.

“Not exactly what I meant, but… yeah.”

“Are you sure? They can be a lot. They’re going to like you, probably more than they like me, but I didn’t say I wanted to introduce you to rush you into anything.”

“You’re not rushing me. I’m ready to meet them. They’re important to you, and I love you.”

“Enough to save some cookies for me?”

“Of course.”

Less than half an hour after arriving at the station, Chris inhales deeply and says, “I love you.”

You smile as Street asks, “Because of the cookies?”

“Really?” Hondo asks you. “Street?”

“I see why he hid you,” Tan says, reaching for another cookie. “We’re going to need the address of your bakery.”

“The cookies aren’t the only reason we like you,” Luca explains. “You’re great for Street.”

“He’s great for me,” you reply. “But I’m glad you like the cookies, too.”

“How’d you meet?” Deacon inquires.

“He stole a cake.”

“I did not steal it,” Street corrects, looking at you as if you just accused him of murder. “I accidentally knocked it out of her window.”

“How do you accidentally knock a cake out of a window?” Hondo asks.

“I’ve asked the same thing almost daily since we started dating and I’ve never gotten a clear answer,” you say.

“Did you start dating after that?” Chris wonders.

“The same day,” Street brags. “I apologized for ruining the cake, and when I saw her, I had to ask her out.”

Hondo looks at you for confirmation, and you shrug. It’s close enough to the truth. Street tried to salvage the cake, offering apology after apology until you laughed. He looked up at you, with cake and frosting up to his elbows, and couldn’t find any more words to say. He finally blurted out a proposal to buy you dinner, and you haven’t looked back since.

“You should come to dinner with us on Friday,” Hondo tells you. “We’re going to a diner that just opened on Wilshire.”

“I’d love to,” you reply. “I’m sorry if I overstepped by just showing up today with no notice.”

“Family can drop by anytime,” Luca assures you.

After you say your farewells and gather the now empty cookie trays, you exchange numbers with Chris and talk to her about some of your shared favorite recipes. Meanwhile, the guys tell Street you’re perfect for him and welcome anytime, whether you’re bearing baked goods or not.

“How long have you been together?” Deacon asks him.

“About a month,” Street answers.

“What does your mom think about the new relationship?” Hondo inquires.

Street looks at you, where you’re laughing with Chris, then admits, “She doesn’t know. I wanted to introduce her to my actual family first.”

Deacon pats Street’s shoulder and encourages him to do what he thinks is best.

“We are your family, kid,” Hondo promises. “And we’re here for you – both of you.”

Street stops outside his door. He begins speaking but doesn’t get past your name before trailing off.

“I know,” you whisper comfortingly. “I’m here for you, Jim. Not your mom. And if she doesn’t like me, that’s okay. At the end of the day, it’s your decision about who you love, not hers. You know that, right?”

“I do. Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Street takes your hand and leads you into his apartment. His mom is living with him temporarily while she gets on her feet again and figures out what exactly she’s going to do for the remainder of her parole – or so she says.

“Jimmy!” she greets warmly. When she sees you, her smile drops.

“Mom, this is my girlfriend,” he introduces. “And this is my mom, Karen Street.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Street,” you greet with a smile, offering your hand.

“You too,” she answers. She then turns to Street, wiping the hand she used to shake yours on her pants, and says, “I couldn’t remember how to use the coffee maker. Could you show me again?”

“I’ll just make you some right now,” he offers before asking if you want anything.

“No, thanks,” you answer softly. Sitting with Karen, you ask how her day is going so far.

“Let’s just skip all the niceties since Jimmy isn’t here,” she interrupts. “You know as well as I do it will never work out. My Jimmy is a cop, he’s handsome, and you’re… a baker? Do you honestly see that working?”

Your smile droops, but you’re unwilling to let Karen Street deter you or scare you away from dating the man who makes you happy.

“We can make it work,” you answer. “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

“It would be in your best interest to leave,” she snaps.

“Here you go, Mom,” Street says, placing a steaming mug of coffee beside her.

Karen looks between you and Street, then asks, “Could I speak to you alone, Jimmy?”

“Mom,” he begins, shaking his head.

“I actually need to use the restroom,” you offer, standing.

Street nods, points you in the right direction, then takes your previous seat. He brushes his fingers against yours as you pass him and prepares for his mother to be back to her usual antics.

“That girl is not good for you, Jimmy,” she warns. “She’s rude, uncaring, and she told me that I was a bad mother! Can you believe that? She practically admitted to using you for your law enforcement ties and for money.”

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Street replies, knowing perfectly well that you didn’t say anything rude or about using him.

Karen gets desperate then, unwilling to lose Street because he’s her access to everything. Jim can get her everything she needs and wants, and she will not let you win him over and take him from her.

“I’m sure it doesn’t, not to you,” Karen continues. “She mentioned another man, so I’d bet she’s not loyal. And you, Jimmy, are the most loyal and caring person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to see her hurt you.”

You linger by the door and scroll on your phone in the bathroom. You’re going to give Street and his mom five minutes to talk, you decide. Smiling as you reply to a message from Chris, you don’t concern yourself with hypothesizing what Karen is saying about you. When you do return, Street stands and rises from his seat.

“Did Chris text you too?” he asks. “About coming over to help with the paint?”

“She did,” you reply, following his lead. Chris texted about helping her paint; that wasn't a lie, but she doesn't need help until next weekend. If Street’s taking it as an out, you’ll go with him. You’d go anywhere with him, you think. “It was a pleasure,” you tell Karen. “I made blueberry scones earlier and thought you might like them. They're on the counter.”

“Thank you,” she replies flatly. “Be safe, Jimmy.”

“I’ll be back later, Mom,” he assures her.

As the door closes behind you, Street sighs and wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon, homewrecker,” he murmurs.

With a laugh, you ask, “What?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need ice cream.”

“And cookies?”

“So many cookies.”

After arriving at your home, you share a plate of fresh cookies and homemade ice cream with Street. He stays close to you, stealing kisses between cookies, and makes you feel incredibly loved. As always.

“Now that you’ve met the family, what do you think?” he inquires.

“If you and Tan ever get tired of SWAT, you should do standup comedy,” you begin.

As you continue raving about 20-David squad and envisioning yourself staying friends with them for years to come, Street smiles. He knew his team would like you, but he’s glad you’re joining the group as seamlessly as he hoped you would.

“Oh, Deacon texted me yesterday,” you remember. “I’m making Sam a birthday cake.”

“Charge him double,” Street jokes.

“I said Deacon not Hondo.”

“You talk to my friends more than I do.”

“They’re great.”

“But my mom is insane.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up straight. Pulling your leg beneath you, you promise, “I was not going to say that.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t a question,” Street assures you, tugging you closer. “You’re not going to see her again unless you really want to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. My mom… My mom isn’t good for me, I’ve known that for a long time. Today, she showed me that she isn’t good for you either, and, if she can’t be supportive of us, I’m done. She’s pulled me in too deep before and I’m not going to let her do it again.”

“She’s your mother, Street.”

“And I’m not risking what I have with you for her manipulative schemes. I think I have to cut that tie before I give her something I can’t get back.”

You nod, frowning sympathetically. You feel uncomfortable giving input on the situation because it’s Street’s decision. As you hug him, he knows exactly what he has to do. His mom was scared of losing him, but she was going to be the one to drive him away.

“Is that why you called me a homewrecker earlier?” you ask against Street’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, she thinks you’re seeing other men. Just using me for my loyalty, good looks, and SWAT money.”

“Please,” you scoff. “That order is way off.”

Street gently pries your arms off of him and shakes his head. “Apparently you also called her a bad mother and if she were a fraction less manipulative and self-serving I’d think she was finally engaging in some reflection.”

“I’m sorry that your relationship is the way it is,” you offer. “But I’m here for you, no matter what you need.”

Street looks at the last cookie, and you smile as you nudge him toward it. Someone knocks on your door, and you leave Street’s side to answer it.

“Uh, I think it’s for you,” you murmur as you open the door wider.

Deacon, Hondo, Tan, Chris, and Luca walk into your home and look expectantly at Street.

“She didn’t like her,” he answers with a shrug. “Hondo was right.”

“Say that one more time?” Hondo requests, raising his phone to record it.

“No.”

“It smells good in here,” Luca whispers to you.

“There’s cookies and a cake in the kitchen,” you tell them. “I still can’t get that cake right. The one time I made a passable version, someone knocked it out of my window.”

Street prepares to defend himself, but you whisper, “Luckily for me, I fell in love with him.”

“So,” Hondo begins as he returns from the kitchen. “How’d it go with your mom?”

“As expected,” Street says quickly. He turns to you and says, “I love you, too.”

A few weeks later, you wait at your open door for Street to arrive. His mom is going back to jail for a parole violation, and his entire team came by your bakery today after a stressful day of saving lives and arresting domestic terrorists. Now, you want to provide Street with the comfort he gives you daily.

“I love you,” Street says as he hugs you.

“I love you,” you reply, brushing your hand over his hair. “Come on in, I have something I want to show you.”

Street nods, catches your falling hand, and follows you inside. Sitting on the counter is a cake that looks nearly identical to the one that brought you together.

“I didn’t get to taste the first one, so I need you to let me know if this is a redemption cake.”

Street forces you to take several pictures with the cake before he takes a small bite. His eyes widen, and he nods rapidly.

“It tastes similar, but even better,” he says. “Can we have this at our wedding?”

“Sure,” you answer with a smile.

Street offers you his fork, and you admit it’s a good cake.

“Speaking of our wedding,” you say after taking another bite, “your future groomsmen invited us to dinner at Deacon and Annie’s tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if I should introduce you to Annie.”

“We’ve already been texting.”

Street shakes his head and kisses you before reminding you that he loves you. "And the cake," he adds as he pulls back and steals another piece.

Aftershock - Office Barbie

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: Weeks later, fate (and a lost bet) brings Tim to a community conference—where you just so happen to be the key speaker.

Fluff

Warnings: sexual tension? kissing? not proofread

You didn’t expect to see him again.

Not really. You figured Sergeant Bradford belonged to that weird category of men you clash with once and remember longer than you should. Like a slow burn from a too-hot pan. Irritating, and then it lingers.

Tim wanted to leave the second they walked in.

“You two are evil,” he mutters to Lucy and Angela as they weave through city-funded booths and low-effort posters with cheap pamphlets about green living.

“This is what you get for losing a bet, Bradford,” Lucy chirps.

“I thought the punishment was brunch,” he growls.

Angela grins. “Brunch and an event. That’s how you learn humility.”

Tim’s already working on a plan to fake a phone call when the lights dim and a new voice comes through the speaker system.

Sharp. Confident. Familiar.

He turns his head—and his body goes still.

“Holy shit,” Lucy whispers beside him. “It’s her.”

Angela lifts a brow. “Tell me that’s not your girl from the construction site.”

Tim clenches his jaw. “She’s not my—”

“She called you Grinch,” Lucy interrupts, grinning. “You called her Barbie. And now she’s out here talking about carbon-neutral foundations in heels that could kill a man.”

“I think I love her,” Angela whispers.

“She’s not—” Tim tries again, but his voice dies in his throat as you scroll through your presentation, completely composed. He watches the way you move—elegant, direct, sure of yourself. You don’t look nervous. You look like the stage was built for you. Like the mic came from your purse.

You look… expensive. Like someone who knows how to win a boardroom, a bet, and a man—if you feel like it. Like the version of you he wouldn’t know how to approach, if he hadn’t already seen you in a hard hat and work boots, barking orders at construction workers during an earthquake like it was just another Tuesday.

You don’t dress like this for conferences.

Usually it’s practical shoes, maybe a sleek ponytail, something just polished enough to prove you take yourself seriously, but not too much—so no one calls you “daddy’s little intern” behind your back.

But today?

Today you wear hot pink.

The blazer is tailored, the skirt is short, and the heels are unapologetically sharp. Office Barbie realness. And you own it. You glide across the conference stage with your presentation remote in one hand and a bulletproof smile in place, heart pounding but controlled.

You’ve got this.

You’re talking sustainability in construction—carbon reduction, green infrastructure, water retention—and you know your shit better than half the men in the room who’ve been in the industry twice as long as you’ve been alive.

But then you see him.

Scowling like someone dragged him here against his will, still looking too good in a plain black T-shirt and jeans. And still somehow managing to make his scowl sexy.

You inhale, steady your hands on the remote. You don’t let it show. Not the way your stomach tightens or how your heart does a messy skip at the sight of him. You keep your voice level and your smile unfazed.

Because this isn’t the time. Or the place.

But God, you missed that face.

Tim hears words. He knows you’re talking about sustainability, about long-term environmental impact, about scalable urban design. He even recognizes a few terms. But none of it sticks. All he can focus on is the curve of your mouth when you speak, the fierce spark in your eyes, the way you command the room like you own every inch of it.

He's absolutely screwed.

Lucy elbows him hard. “Close your mouth, Bradford.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re drooling,” Angela stage-whispers.

“I’m going to kill both of you,” he growls.

“You’re welcome,” Lucy sings.

The second you step off stage, the conference organizer pulls you aside. Praise, compliments, the usual. But your eyes keep darting to the back of the room, where the tall, broody one is whispering furiously to his two grinning companions.

“What are you doing?” Tim hisses.

Lucy clasps her hands like a rom-com fairy godmother. “Helping you get laid. Now shut up and be nice.”

Angela tugs her away. “Don’t be a caveman. Go say hi.”

Tim glares after them. But he moves.

God, he looked even better up close. A little scruffier than last time. Brooding. And his eyes—so blue they could knock the wind out of you.

Tim gave you a slow once-over, and that smirk hit.

He stands there, hands in his pockets, the corner of his mouth just barely tipped up. That same annoyingly sexy, broody look on his face. Blue shirt stretched across his shoulders like a sin.

“Office Barbie suits you.”

You roll your eyes—but you’re smiling. “Still calling me that?”

“Still acting like you don’t love it?”

You step closer, arms crossed. “What are you doing here, Grinch?”

“Lost a bet.”

You bite your lip to hold in the laugh. “That explains the permanent scowl.”

Tim glanced at the now-empty stage, then back at you. “You were good.”

“Only ‘good’?” you teased, stepping closer. “I worked on that presentation for weeks.”

He tilted his head, eyes lingering on your mouth. “To be honest, I didn’t hear most of it.”

“Oh?” You raised your brows, pretending offense. “Too many big words for you?”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Too many distractions.”

Your cheeks warmed. But you didn’t flinch. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Maybe,” he said, eyes dropping briefly—pointedly—to your legs before dragging back up to your eyes. “But the view was decent.”

You let out a soft laugh and cocked a hip. “You flirting with me, Sergeant?”

He stepped closer. “Would it work?”

“Depends.” You toyed with the button of your blazer. “Are you here to arrest me for having too many words in my presentation?”

“Didn't bring cuffs."

You gave him a slow, deliberate once-over.

“That’s too bad. I did prefer the uniform.”

He smiled. Actually smiled. It was a little crooked. A little dangerous.

And it did things to your insides.

Before you could say something even more reckless, a voice called your name. One of your professors—old, sweet, the type who’d ask you for lecture slides in a USB drive.

“I should go."

But when you started to step away, he reaches for your wrist—not grabbing, just touching. His fingers brush against your skin and it jolts through you like a live wire.

“Wait—can I get your number?” he asks.

You pause. Smirk.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He raises a brow. “You’d rather I stalk you?”

You lean in slightly, lips just shy of his ear.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

Then you’re gone—heels clicking as you cross the room, leaving him standing there with a frustrated groan and a look that says challenge accepted.

The event wrapped up an hour later, long after the panels ended and the buzz of too many conversations filled the air.

And there he was.

Leaning against his truck like he belonged there. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Watching you approach like he hadn’t been doing exactly that since the second you walked in.

You slowed, one brow raised. “Stalking me now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just being polite.”

You glanced at the truck. “Didn’t think Grinches offered rides to strangers.”

He stepped forward, opened the passenger door for you like a damn gentleman. “Get in, Princess Barbie.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

The inside of Tim’s truck is warm. Smells faintly like pine and leather and whatever cologne clings to him naturally, subtle but unmistakably him and masculine in a way that makes your thighs press together instinctively. You settle into the passenger seat, crossing your legs, careful to tug your skirt down as far as it'll go.

He starts the engine. Glances at you. “Seatbelt, Barbie.”

You smirk. “Worried about my safety, Sargeant?”

His jaw flexes, his eyes on the road now. “Always.”

Silence falls for a beat, thick and brimming with the words neither of you are ready to say. Then he clears his throat.

“So… what are you studying exactly?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Civil engineering. Sustainability focus. You know, boring stuff.”

He scoffs. “Didn’t look boring from where I was sitting.”

You give him a side glance. “You mean from where you were staring?”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “You were hard to miss.”

You feign surprise. “Because of the heels or the facts?”

Tim shoots you a look. “Definitely the heels.”

You laugh, and he exhales like he can finally breathe again. The ease between you returns, like it never left—not after the earthquake, not after the adrenaline wore off.

Not even after weeks apart.

The car settles into a smooth cruise, city lights rolling past the windows. Tim rests his right elbow on the center console. His fingers dangle—casual, relaxed. Then they brush against the bare skin of your thighs.

Heat crackles up your spine. You don’t move. Neither does he. His pinky drags the lightest line over your skin—so subtle it could’ve been an accident. But it’s not. You both know it.

You shift, just barely. His finger follows.

Still, neither of you look at each other. You chew your lip.

“You were impressive today,” he says, voice lower now. “Seriously.”

You glance at him.

“Thanks,” you say, softer. “I wasn’t sure anyone actually listened.”

“I did,” he murmurs. “Mostly.”

Your brow lifts. “Mostly?”

“I was distracted.”

You smirk. “By the visuals?”

“By your mouth,” he says simply. “Hard to focus on what you’re saying when you look like that.”

A pulse flutters in your throat. You open your mouth to answer—but then the car slows. A red light.

And suddenly, he turns. His fingers shift, pressing slightly into the inside of your thigh. His other hand leaves the wheel. And then he leans in.

You meet him halfway.

The kiss starts soft—testing, brushing. But your lips part almost immediately, like your body was waiting for this, begging for it. His hand cups your cheek. Yours tangle in the collar of his shirt. His tongue slips past your lips, deep and claiming.

It’s slow for a second. Then it’s not. The kiss turns wild—hungry, open-mouthed, teeth and breath and want. Like all the flirting, the near-misses, the power plays between you were just foreplay for this.

Your back arches into the kiss. His hand slides up your thigh, firm and confident. You gasp softly against his mouth, and he swallows the sound like it feeds him.

Then someone honks, announcing the green light. You both freeze.

Tim pulls back slowly, his forehead resting against yours for a beat before he straightens and puts the truck in gear again, cursing under his breath as he drives. His fingers never leave your thigh.

He pulls up in front of your apartment building, cuts the engine, and hops out to open your door before you can even unbuckle.

Chivalry looks good on him.

You step out, heart pounding, the kiss still tingling on your lips. But the second you’re on the sidewalk, his eyes are on your mouth again.

You smile up at him, voice low and teasing. “You know… I live alone.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “As an cop, I suggest you stop saying that to strangers.”

You grin. “Didn’t know you were a stranger back in the car, Sergeant.”

He steps closer and kisses you again. Harder this time. Wilder. His hands find your waist, dragging you against him as your fingers tangle in the front of his shirt. You kiss him like you’ve been waiting—because you have. For weeks. For months. For this exact moment.

You fumble with your keys, still kissing, still gasping between touches.

The door opens. Neither of you stop as you kick the door shut with your heel.

Tim presses you up against it, his mouth hot and hungry on your neck.

You pull his shirt over his head—god, he’s ripped—and he does the same to you, sliding your blazer off your shoulders, fingers grazing your skin, leaving heat in their wake. You gasp when his lips find your collarbone.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

You look him in the eye. “Don’t you dare.”

Venom To The Rescue- Venom/Eddie Brock x Reader

Summary: Venom comes to readers rescue when she’s harassed by John Walker

Word Count: 1, 710

CW: *does have a scene of sexual harassment so TW for that*

*Want to be tagged in any future Venom/Eddie fics? Click here*

The excess room in the transport van was much appreciated, as you, Eddie and Venom travelled to meet the famous Avengers. Eddie stayed with you for most of the journey, but Venom wanted to take over every now and then, complaining that he wanted to see you and that he was bored.

You knew the main reason for the van was to act as a somewhat transport cage for Venom, especially with the armed guards behind you and one in the passenger seat, but you understood.

Being with Eddie and Venom for the past two years and seeing what Venom could do, you completely understand peoples caution. Venom tried to act innocent and like he didn’t understand the need for armed guards, but he knew why, and you think deep down he was a little proud.

“Are we almost there?” Venom continued to complain.

“I think we’re pulling in now, Vee,” you smile sweetly and patiently at the large alien.

“Mr. Brock, it might be best for you to be the one to meet with the Avengers first,” the armed guard in front of you informed.

“What?! That’s not fair!”

The guards pulled their guns, and Venom smiled wide as he licked his fangs, obviously excited for a fight. You knew this was stressing Eddie out and that Venom could easily take these guys out, so to calm the situation you gently placed your hand on Venoms bicep.

“Hey, V, think of it this way, they see Eddie first and think it’s fine, and then when the times right you can make a big appearance, wowing and scaring everyone.”

You always knew how to stroke Venoms ego to make him behave.

“Very well,” he simply spoke as he let Eddie come back.

Seeing Eddie’s face and body once again, you both sighed a sigh of relief. Holding onto Eddie’s hand tightly, you see the van is slowing down and a woman in a professional looking pants suit and tablet is ready waiting for you.

Giving Eddie’s hand a last squeeze of encouragement, you both step out of the vehicle.

“You must be Eddie and Y/N, welcome to the Avengers headquarters. My name is Maria Hill, and I’ll be introducing you and ah- your friend to the team.”

Maria was sweet, although you could tell a little nervous. You and Eddie knew that the Avengers had seen lots of different and dangerous things, but it seems Venom is still a challenge for them.

Walking down the halls to the planned meeting area, Maria is pointing out different things about the building, where things are, what things do, who certain people are.

As you’re all about to step into the elevator together, you hear someone running over.

“Hey, hold the elevator!” You hear someone yell.

Turning around to look at who the voice belongs to, you notice it is no other than John Walker, aka Fake Cap, as you, Eddie and Venom call him. You knew you’d most likely encounter him today, and you all had to prepare each other to meet him, and be on your best behaviours.

“Ah, John good to see you,” Maria told him, obviously trying to hide a wince, “this is Eddie and Y/N. Eddie is a new potential recruit and Y/N is his partner.”

At hearing you were dating Eddie, something seemed to pass John’s eyes, a look of both intrigue and mischief, but whatever it was, it put you on edge.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he spoke only to you as he stepped into the elevator with you, a little close for your liking.

Eddie put his arm around your waist and you could hear Venom growl. Eddie and Venoms protection of you seemed to amuse him, as he smiled creepily, and his eyes leered at you.

Facing the doors for the rest of the lift ride, you could still feel John’s eyes on you the whole time. Eddie’s grip on you got tighter and tighter as you could tell he was trying to hold back Venom.

You comforted them as they protected you.

Walking into the large lab-like room, the rest of the team stood around an area that was no doubt designed for Venom to show himself. Venom had a crowd and a podium, this is exactly what your little drama queen wanted.

After Maria had introduced you to the anxious group of heros, you let go of Eddie and encouraged him to step forward.

While you watched Venom appear through Eddie, you tried to ignore the way John’s eyes obviously bore into you, as if he was studying your actions. Venom stood to full height and waved at you like a kid at a talent show, your wave back seemed to interest John as his stare became even more intense.

Luckily for everyone, Venom was a little too busy showboating to notice how close John now stood to you.

“Alright, Vee, I think that’s enough, sweetheart, time to bring Eddie back,” you called to him as you could see he was getting a little too excited.

Being with both Eddie and Venom could be challenging sometimes, especially when Venom acted like a toddler, but you knew there was more to him than that. You knew how to wrangle him in, and he knew how to make you laugh and look after you.

The team seemed almost amazed that you could bring him back so easily, but the amazement quickly turned to relief as Eddie appeared again. Everyone parted for Eddie to stand beside you, except for Maria, who had most likely practised keeping her cool, this kid Peter who was more excited then scared, and of course, John.

“Alright well, if it’s alright with you Y/N, we’d like to talk with Eddie in private now. Please feel free to wait in the common room I showed you and we’ll come get you once we’re finished.”

You felt a little worried to leave your boys alone, but you made sure to give Eddie a comforting hug and whisper a stern ‘behave’ into Eddie’s ear, before you left.

********

The common room was nice, it was about midway up the tower with large glass windows to see all over the city. After such a long trip it was to your delight that the room was empty, so you could have any of the big comfy couches all to yourself.

Once you made yourself a drink from one of the fancy machines in the kitchen area, you got yourself comfortable and began to read with your warm drink.

It seemed the meeting with Eddie was taking longer than you thought it would, as you finish a chapter and your drink. Standing up you decide to go back to the kitchen to get a cool drink of water. Unfortunately as you turn toward the kitchen however, you almost run into John.

Seeing him alone, and now standing so close, you try your best to calm your breathing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the meeting?” You asked, trying your best to sound pleasant.

Instead of answering, he simply gave you a sly shrug and smile, as he pushed you against a table, trapping you between it and him.

“What the fuck, John?”

You try your best to shove him off, but it’s no use. Looking into his eyes with fear, his stare only appears predatory as one of his hands rests on your hip.

“What? You’re not gonna call me ‘sweetheart’ like you did with the monster? Hmm? Pretty thing like you dating both a man and a monster. What Brock not man enough for you? Need a monster to fuck you too? You really are a kinky little bitch. I like that.”

You were petrified, frozen in fear, as you prepared for him to kiss or grab you, but it never came. Instead you feel his body weight leave yours, and you see him thrown around the room.

Venom lets out a loud growl as he pinned him against the wall by his neck.

“How dare you speak to her like that! How dare you touch her!”

Still frozen from shock, you can’t move to stop him, and it seems like none of the rest of the team want to do anything either. John thrashes about in Venoms grip, and the team look like they’re trying to work out if and how to save him.

“This guys growing on me, I say we let him join,” Bucky laughs to Sam, everyone’s attention on Venom and not you.

Sam simply rolls his eyes at his friend and groans, realising he’s the one who has to stop all this.

“Alright, I think he’s had enough, big guy.”

You knew Sam wouldn’t be enough to stop him, and you didn’t want someone innocent being hurt by Venom.

“Venom!” You finally find your voice and call out.

You try to think of more to say, but as he and Eddie look at your trembling form, it’s enough for him to stop.

“My sweet,” Venom strides over to you, with each step he turns back into Eddie.

“Let’s get you outta here, sweetheart,” Eddie’s hand comes up to gently stroke your cheek.

“Um huh hmm, Eddie and Y/N, if you’d like to follow me, I can show you to a room for you to stay for the night,” Maria awkwardly interrupted, attempting to soothe the situation.

As if in a numb state, you simply followed Eddie while he gently drags you along. You seem to zone out the whole trip there, until you hear a buzz of your door opening.

“Come on, baby. Get you into bed and I’ll hold you.”

Eddie gently pulls you into the room, and begins to make you comfortable. Sweetly laying you down on the double bed, he takes off your shoes and socks, pulls the covers over you and crawls into bed on the other side of you.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he gentle coaxes as he opens his arms.

The second you lay on his warm chest, a floodgate of tears fall down your face, and the fear and anxiety hits you all at once.

“I’m sorry, baby. We love you so much,” Eddie coos as he rocks you, safe in his arms.

Pretending You Can't

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop(analyst)!reader

Summary: You're touch starved and wishing to make friends in the LAPD, but you move divisions so often that it becomes difficult. While working with the Major Crimes unit, you find a solution to both problems.

Warnings: depiction of touch starvation, discussion of difficulty making friends, murder case, fluff, comfort, OOC Karadec

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I love Karadec so much. Hope someone can enjoy this.🫶🏼

“Melon alert,” someone whispers as they rush past you.

You roll your eyes and turn to the next page of your report. Lieutenant Melon is annoying, but he has yet to request your direct assistance. That is one of the few benefits of being quiet and reserved in a Los Angeles Police station. It is, however, far outweighed by the downfalls. You’re lonely, and you want to make friends at work, even though you are quiet. Each time you meet someone you think could be a friend, you get moved to a new desk or a new division and have to start all over. Maybe, you think, I’m just not made to have friends.

You stand and stretch your arms over your head. The report on your desk must be signed by Melon, but he’s busy, so you walk down the hall to stretch your legs and get something from the break room.

“Sorry,” you apologize as your shoulder hits someone backing out of the elevator. It feels like the skin on your shoulder is on fire, and pain like pins and needles travels down your arm. This would have been a good indicator something was wrong if you hadn’t already known you were touch-starved. Shaking your arm, you see the large box in his arms and ask, “Do you need help with that?”

“Please,” he answers.

You slide your hands under the side opposite him, and he lowers it to rest between your chests.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Detective Osman, right?”

He nods and somehow knows your name, too. You look around briefly as he leads you through the door into Major Crimes. This is one area you have not worked in, but you think you’d like it. The people in this division are kind when you see them in the station, and they do good work. Your gaze hits Detective Karadec, and you look away quickly, telling yourself it’s because you need to watch where you’re going.

“It’s too much,” he says, his shoulders moving up in a short shrug as he nods. Something about his body language disarms many people, but every time you see him, you’re drawn in by him.

Lieutenant Soto exits her office, pinching the bridge of her nose. Detective Osman sighs as he looks at her, then thanks you quietly. You smile and nod, then walk toward the door. Before you reach it, Soto calls your name. Turning slowly, you raise your brows and hold your hands against your stomach.

“Yes, ma’am?” you answer.

“You worked in the gang unit last year, correct?” she inquires.

“Yes, but only for a few months in the spring.”

“Are you familiar with the name…” she pauses to look at a sticky note in her hand, then says, “Victor Kwang?”

Nodding, you explain, “I did the paperwork for his arrest warrant, the affidavit, I mean, and some research into his accomplices and manufacturing.”

“Did you find the factory in Westlake?” a woman in a cheetah-print skirt asks.

“Excuse her,” Karadec interjects as he spins his chair to face you. “This is Morgan Gillory.”

You’ve heard about Morgan, or as Melon calls her, the cleaning lady, but if she already found Kwang’s Westlake factory, she’s better than you thought.

“I did,” you tell her. “It wasn’t operational at the time, but it was searched. Turned up practically nothing.”

“Okay,” Morgan drawls slowly. “It’s not in the report.”

Karadec watches how your brows pinch, and your eyes shift like you’re thinking.

“There’s another report,” he guesses.

“I only worked on one.”

He nods once before spinning his chair to use the computer. Opening the report they’re going on, he scrolls to the bottom of the first page to see who completed the report.

“It wasn’t this one,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Detective Daphne Forrester.

She raises her hands and says, “It’s the only one that came up when I typed in Victor Kwang.”

You focus on your memory of completing the report and ask Daphne, “Are most of his arrests for assault?”

“90%,” she replies.

“Wrong Victor Kwang,” you say. “When that case was open, there was a lot of.. discontent, I guess, in Koreatown. The DA said they had every right to be treated exactly the same here as in Korea.”

Karadec scoffs and shakes his head. You agree; it didn’t make sense, but you complied.

“So?” Osman asks.

“His arrest record and the reports from that investigation have his Korean name on it. Kwang Kyu. Surname first, given name, and everything we have on him is in that file.”

Soto raises her brows at Karadec, unseen by you. He looks between you and his lieutenant, then to Morgan.

“Who are you reporting to now?” Soto asks you.

“Lieutenant Melon,” you reply. Quieter, you add, “Technically.”

“I think it’s time for a change,” she muses before returning to her office.

“Did you do this whole report?” Daphne asks, looking up from her computer. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you answer softly. Without Soto as a buffer and the contained topic of police work, you’re unsure how to talk to the detectives you’ve looked up to for so long.

Soto returns from her office and smiles as she instructs, “Pack up. You’re coming to Major Crimes.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Oz asks.

Soto looks away from the door that just closed behind you and levels her gaze on Karadec.

“I think she can help,” he states. “Morgan didn’t catch that the report was for the wrong guy.”

“You didn’t either,” she argues.

“Where does she usually work?” Daphne wonders aloud. “I see her around from time to time, but never in the same place twice.”

“She jumps around,” Soto explains.

“Why?” Oz adds. “Hard to work with? Trying to find where to use a golden ticket?”

“She’s good,” Karadec answers. “She can do close to everything. Chief decided to pass around the talent.”

“And how do you know that?” Soto challenges, her brows raised knowingly.

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes, then shakes his head.

“If Kwang opened a factory in Westlake, he probably did it to get away from the suspicions about what he was doing in Koreatown,” Morgan muses. “His factories form a parallelogram with an overlaid pyramid. When you look at those on a map, they center around one place.”

“Being?” Karadec presses, sounding more tired than he had with you.

She moves closer to the caseboard and examines the map briefly. “Hotel Normandie.”

“Koreatown?” Daphne clarifies.

“Yep. 605 Normandie Avenue.”

“And what is that supposed to tell us?” Karadec sighs.

“I…” Morgan purses her lips to trace her nail along the map.

“You’re missing another shape,” you point out as you return with a small tote bag of your things.

Soto’s eyes widen, and she presses her lips together to hide her smile. You’ve been here for less than five minutes, and you’re providing information Morgan can’t. They all know it’s because of how long you spent studying Victor Kwang, but it’s still interesting to see.

“Hotel Normandie is one of Kwang’s favorite spots. It’s less than thirty minutes from the Hollywood Bowl, Griffith Observatory, LA County Museum of Art, Natural History Museum, and Dodger Stadium. That’s a-“

“Pentagram,” Morgan finishes. “He could get around to all of them and back to the hotel in 2 hours without traffic.”

“Add Forest Lawn,” you add, setting your bag on an empty chair. “And you’ve got a hexagon.”

Karadec stands at the word hexagon, and you wonder what they’re working on.

“DB was called in this morning,” he tells you as he slides his cell phone and a bottle of hand sanitizer into his pocket. “It was found at the corner of Wilshire and Crenshaw. There was a note in the vic’s pocket with the name Victor Kwang written repeatedly. The note was folded into a hexagon.”

“And that intersection is in Kwang’s criminal hexagon,” Morgan adds.

“The victim had his visa,” Daphne says as if she’s reading your mind to answer your questions. “ID’ed him as Chang Shirong. Came in from China four months ago, so he likely would have been traveling back within the next few weeks.”

“Six months. He had a B-1 visa?” you realize incredulously. “What business activities was he conducting?”

“I’ve got that,” Oz interjects, holding an open file. “He had a relatively legitimate clothing business and was negotiating contracts with Lids and Fanatics.”

“How long ago did he get approved for the visa?” Morgan asks.

“Five years ago,” Daphne answers.

You fall silent and listen, happy to stay here and complete their paperwork while they go out in the field and put Kwang back in jail. Provided that he’s found guilty, of course.

“When was Kwang released after the sweatshop factory fiasco?” Karadec asks, though his gaze strays to you.

“Five-and-a-half years ago,” Oz reads. “Could have easily gotten in with Chang to move operations overseas.”

“The Government Accountability Office would’ve had Kwang on a short leash,” Soto states. “If Kwang broke that kind of labor law, he wouldn’t have been able to conduct business of any type, not for a while at least.”

“Not necessarily,” Morgan counters, raising her finger.

“Here we go,” Karadec murmurs, holding his fist against his chin.

“AB633 holds California garment manufacturers responsible for sweatshop conditions. It ensures workers are paid minimum wage and overtime. Because of that, the Labor Commissioner can bring lawsuits on behalf of the whole workforce to guarantee wages and – this is the important part – revoke the registration of the manufacturer that fails to pay a wage award. They up new registration fees, but can't legally keep someone from reopening a business based only on wage crimes.”

“Sounds like you need to look into the sweatshops,” Soto says before telling everyone where to go.

You pull a chair to Daphne’s desk to help her trace Kwang since his release from prison, and she smiles as she whispers, “Teach me your ways.”

You send her a small smile and immediately decide that you want to be friends with Daphne Forrester. The longer you sit beside her and across from Oz, the easier it is to open up and offer your ideas and theories.

“Oz,” Morgan calls as she returns a few hours after leaving. “Karadec needs you to throw a phone book at someone.”

“We still don’t do that,” he replies as he exits the office.

“What are we working on?” Morgan asks as she takes Oz’s chair.

“We found Kwang’s quote ‘professional’ activities since leaving prison,” Daphne explains.

“Any theories?”

“I don’t have any.” Daphne gestures toward you as she adds, “This one has some great ones.”

“Lay ‘em on me,” Morgan requests. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“You must be a very good mom,” you murmur.

“I have a teenager,” she says, “I know the signs of someone not wanting to talk to me. I also notice when someone’s eyes wander to a certain detective.”

“Karadec?!” Daphne exclaims, tapping her hand against your arm and igniting invisible flames beneath your sleeve.

You drop your head and wring your fingers together. “I think Kwang met someone in prison who could set him up with an overseas businessman. Your victim flew in on a visitor’s visa a week before Kwang was released and stayed for nearly two months. If they met then, Chang had a reason to get a business visa and make regular trips to visit his business partner.”

“Any idea who could’ve known both of them?” Morgan wonders.

“That’s where we found the hiccup,” Daphne answers.

You have an idea, but it doesn’t make sense, so you stay quiet. Morgan and Daphne look at you, then at each other. Morgan nods before she stands.

“You’re coming to my house for dinner,” she says. “It wasn’t an invitation or a question, you’re coming. Let’s go.”

Daphne nods and tells you to have a good night, so you follow Morgan out of the station. While you walk into the parking lot, she slows and looks toward you.

“You like Karadec,” she begins. “When you’re not incredibly focused, your eyes stray to him. It happens when you’re not confident in your statements, too.”

“I- he-“ you try before deciding to say, “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I notice a lot, and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Maybe you should try to just talk to him tomorrow, share one of those good ideas you kept to yourself today.”

“I thought that was your job.”

Morgan smiles. “If it gets Karadec to smile, I’ll relinquish my duty to you for a day.”

“Why would that make him smile?”

“You can figure that out, detective.”

Morgan begins walking again, and as she opens her car door, you call, “I’m not a detective!”

The following morning, you enter the station early with a mental list of names and information to look into. Walking into Major Crimes, you’re not entirely surprised to see Karadec already at his desk.

“You’re early,” he muses. “You can use Oz’s desk.”

“Thanks.” You lower into Oz’s seat and use your station login to access the police database.

“Help yourself,” he offers, gesturing to a donut box.

You smile and take one of your favorites. If you had to guess, you never would have assumed that Karadec was the one who brought the donuts every week. Maybe they take turns, you think.

As you work quietly beside Karadec, you run through each idea you have. Each search that fails to provide a helpful result discourages you more than the last.

“Pass me the Kwang file?” Karadec requests.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes the extended file. He thanks you, but you don’t hear it as your nerves alight. You try to hide the pain in your hand as you place it back on the keyboard. Failing to remember the last time you were hugged or even simply touched in a way that lets you know someone cared about you, you force yourself to focus. Your hand curls into a fist as the pain subsides, and then you return to work.

With your focus on the lack of touch you’ve experienced recently, you don’t notice Karadec watching you. He’s known since before you joined their team that there is more to you than people think.

As the rest of Major Crimes begins arriving, you log out and pull a chair to the corner of Daphne’s desk to continue working with her. Karadec tries to focus, but when you are close, he finds it hard to do.

“Good morning,” Morgan greets, sitting beside you. She lowers her voice to remind you, “Talk to Karadec.”

“All of my ideas turned up nothing,” you explain softly.

“And?” Oz asks as he approaches the other side of Daphne’s desk.

“She likes Karadec,” Morgan replies.

Your eyes widen as you look over at her. Daphne stifles a laugh, and Oz shrugs as if that isn’t new information.

“Yeah, yeah,” Morgan murmurs. “Et tu, good report maker. Seriously, tell him something. You have more ideas; I can see it.”

“Any new theories?” Karadec asks, turning his seat to face Daphne’s crowded desk.

“I think the order of the hexagon was wrong,” you blurt out.

“Why would the order matter?” Oz inquires.

Karadec watches you, listening carefully. Morgan smiles and shakes her head knowingly before she winks at Daphne.

“If the route matters, then traffic, travel times, and when the places are actual targets changes.”

“Targets?” Karadec repeats.

“I assumed you were evaluating the places based on their proximity to his former sweatshops,” you explain. “So, he could use them as alibis, to recruit workers, or in this case, to lure Chang into his previous enterprise to undermine Chang’s business.”

“Like a sightseeing tour for bad guys,” Oz translates.

“Alternatively, they were on their way to one of these places and Chang dropped some news about taking a larger profit margin or something, Kwang was outraged and killed him.”

“In which case, he’d want to get another shop up and running ASAP,” Morgan comments.

“Let’s run with that theory,” Karadec decides. “We’ll split up and check the different points on the hexagon. Use Kwang’s previous warehouses for ideas about where he’d be holed up or operating a new factory.”

“Someone from Immigration is here with Chang’s visa information,” Soto says.

“I got it,” Oz offers. “Go find this guy.”

“I’ll go with Daphne,” Morgan announces.

“Okay,” Karadec agrees, standing. “Which direction do we go?”

“Hotel Normandie faces east,” you answer. “Most people turn right when leaving a building, so he’d be pretty likely to go South. The art museum would either be first or last because it’s west of the hotel.”

“We’ll take the southern locations starting with the Natural History Museum. Then we’ll hit Dodger Stadium and go around. Daphne and Morgan, go west to the art museum then north toward Griffith Observatory. Overlapping visits should double our chances.”

“Yeah, that’s not how percentage of chance works,” Morgan replies. “I’ll explain it later.”

“Oh, good,” Karadec deadpans.

“So…” Karadec begins as he drives toward the natural history museum. “What did you want to do when you joined the department?”

“At first, I didn’t know. Then I realized I wanted to become a detective,” you answer. “I think it’s too late for that.”

“Never know. What made you decide?”

“A lot of detectives worth looking up to. Including you.”

You realize what you said and chew the inside of your bottom lip as you wait for Karadec to say something. Anything.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment. “Although you had better options.”

“I didn’t know Daphne yet,” you joke, pulling a rare smile from him. “Hey, slow down. That building should be condemned.”

Karadec slows as he steers the car onto the gravel shoulder. He watches the shadows moving in the covered windows and radios for backup.

“ETA two minutes,” dispatch replies.

“Uh, Karadec?” you interrupt.

“Yeah?”

“Door just opened.”

You watch Victor Kwang exit the warehouse in an expensive suit. He notices the car and then runs along the side of the building. You don’t hesitate to exit Karadec’s car and chase him, ignoring Karadec’s yells for you to wait.

As you round the western side of the warehouse, you speed up and push off your right foot to tackle Victor Kwang. He grunts as he lands in the dirt, and you pant through your recitation of his Miranda rights. Karadec approaches behind you and passes you a pair of handcuffs.

“Maybe we should let you carry those next time,” he says. “Is that your car, Mr. Kwang?”

“Lawyer,” Kwang replies as you turn him to make him sit up.

“In that case, I’ll go ahead and get it towed to the station in violation of California Vehicle Code 22500,” Karadec says, pulling his phone from his pocket.

You look at the car and smile. “Section f: A person shall not stop or park on a portion of a sidewalk.”

“It’s my sidewalk!” Kwang argues as sirens approach the front of the building.

“It’s the city’s sidewalk,” Karadec says. He takes your place and pulls Kwang’s arm to make him stand. “So, we’ll be searching your illegally parked car when it arrives at the station.”

After an officer takes Kwang, you take a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Karadec checks, laying his hand on your shoulder.

Your muscles tense, pulling into a tight knot before immediately releasing to be more relaxed than before Karadec touched you. He feels every movement and realizes by the movement that you are devastatingly touch-starved. Karadec does not like touching things or people, you’ve noticed, but you’re both acutely aware of how well his hand fits on you.

“I’m okay,” you answer quietly.

The moment ends abruptly when Karadec’s phone rings. He removes his hand from your shoulder to answer Daphne’s call, but his warmth lingers as you follow him back to the car.

After Kwang confesses to receive a plea deal and offers up the international crime matchmaker who introduced him to Chang, you return home. Your hand raises to your shoulder, where Karadec touched you. Now that the case is closed, you’ll likely be transferred out of Major Crimes again and lose the four people you think you could have been friends with. Again.

Someone knocks on your door, and you approach it quietly to look through the peephole. Sighing, you open the door and silently invite Karadec into your home.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. “Soto told me I could finish the reports in the morning.”

“No, that’s fine,” he replies, looking briefly around your living room before bending back slightly with his hands in his pockets. “I… I think I can help you.”

Your mouth opens, but you take a moment to find the right words. “Do you mean that the other way? Can I help you again?”

“No, no,” he answers with a smile. “Can I just show you?”

“Sure,” you say slowly.

Adam pulls his hands from his pockets as he steps toward you. You inhale quickly at his proximity, and when his hands raise, you hold your breath. Tensing your muscles as Karadec lays his hands on your waist, you swallow. His thumbs brush wide arcs between your ribs as your body relaxes at his touch.

“Oh,” you realize under your breath.

“You said you looked up to me as a detective. I admire you as a lot more than that.”

The initial pain of his touch fades, and you seem to melt beneath his hands. If you’re going to react like this, Karadec thinks, he may never take his hands off you.

“I thought you didn’t like touching things with germs,” you remember.

“Found an exception.”

Karadec smiles as you argue, “Soto won’t like that.”

One of his hands slides from your waist and catches your hand. You instinctively try to pull away because it hurts, but he holds you tighter, drops his smile, and whispers, “It’s okay.”

You nod and shift your hands to interlace your fingers with his.

“If you want help with this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “I’m here. But you tell me when to stop.”

“Why?” you inquire.

Karadec doesn’t answer, and you admit, “I have feelings for you. Like… feelings. I understand if that makes you feel different and you don’t want me close anymore.”

“Feelings?” he repeats, using the tone you used the second time. “Should it make me feel different?”

Your brows furrow and Karadec returns both hands to your waist.

“It doesn’t,” he assures you, dropping his hands.

“There’s hand sanitizer in my bag, behind you,” you offer.

“Soto sent me over to tell you she wants you in Major Crimes full-time,” Karadec interjects. “It’s up to you, though.”

“Would that… Do you care if I say yes?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“You’re not really helping me here.”

He nods in a small circular movement which tells you he doesn’t care about that. His smile, however, makes you smile.

“I have wanted to be a detective for a long time,” you muse.

“Anyone you’d be leaving behind in the other divisions?”

“Oh, yeah,” you answer sarcastically. “I’m just swimming in friends, hence the extreme touch starvation.”

“Give Soto your answer in the morning,” he requests. “I’ll see you there?”

“Of course.”

You watch Karadec leave, and when you wrap your arms around your waist, nothing happens. No pain, no pins or needles, just warmth and the memory of Karadec's touch.

When Karadec enters Major Crimes the morning after visiting you, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Daph!” he calls. “Where is she?”

“Morgan?” she clarifies.

“She’s finishing paperwork,” Oz answers. “Transfer papers, I’d guess.”

“I need signatures,” Soto says, exiting her office.

“Beautiful,” Daphne whispers as she signs your completed report.

“Yes, it is,” Karadec agrees, though his eyes are up, watching you enter the office with a smile.

“Where’d the grumpy persona go?” you whisper as you place a donut box on your new desk.

“I’d guess wherever he left it last night,” Soto answers, looking between you.

Morgan enters, spouting theories about another case but stops when she sees you. “I told you! You just had to stop pretending you couldn’t do it.”

“Hey,” Daphne calls, pointing at you with a sprinkled donut. “No ‘will they, won’t they,’ okay? Do it or don’t, but I can’t watch my friends dance around each other.”

“We’re friends?” you repeat.

“Duh.”

“So…” Morgan begins. “Are you okay with a group hug or do you need some more time?”

You look at Karadec, who shrugs, and then you nod. As you’re wrapped in warmth and care by your new friends – and Karadec, who you hope can be more than a friend – you realize that you finally found where you belong, and you’re not pretending anymore. You can do this. You can do the job, the friendships, and the openness.